Finally, I am absolutely certain that Wyatt doesn't speak English. There are times when I am unsure, when I am on the couch watching TV, he stands there staring at me very intently, like there is something extremely important on his mind.
"Pork chop," I expect him to say. "Get me a goddamned pork chop immediately. This dry shit you've been feeding us is not cutting it, and I'm here to register the official complaint. Now go get me some meat or I'll pee on your shoes. Again."
"Seriously?" will be my response. "You peed on my shoes on purpose? Why didn't you just ask me? I would have changed up the food situation ages ago!"

But he never speaks. And after today, I am very certain that he actually doesn't speak English, because if he did, he'd have said something like

"Get me out of here you stupid fucking bitch. What the fuck is wrong with you? This river is too deep and too fast for my big, wide ass, and since it's been raining for a couple days, you probably should have known that. What the hell were you thinking? You stupid bitch. Now go get the car."

As it was, he followed along next to me without a word, against his will, his tiny legs doing their best to propel him in the opposite direction than the one I was heading in. I was sure we would come to a spot that was shallow enough for us all to stand on, since on regular days when it hasn't been pouring rain this particular part of the river is quite shallow. I also knew that slightly up ahead there was another trail head on the bank, where we could climb up and walk back through the rest of the nature center to the car. What I hadn't counted on, and could not possibly have foreseen, was the giant dog that was standing at that trail head, without a human anywhere nearby, growling at Kilgore when he tried to make his way to the shore. It was huge, well over a hundred pounds, and looked like it might have been part wolf. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that the current was far too strong for Wyatt to walk against, much less swim. The water was much deeper than I imagined, and though I was never in any danger (it only came up to my stomach at the deepest point), I did have a hard time keeping my bag dry and propelling Wyatt along in the right direction. We stood there uncertainly for about five minutes, during which time Kilgore drifted about a hundred yards further downstream, swam to the bank, doubled back, deftly avoiding the giant wolf dog, and jumped back in to meet us. The other thing I hadn't foreseen was the weather, and when it suddenly blew in the wind whipped up and it started to rain. I dragged Wyatt (whose legs were still pumping even though they weren't getting him anywhere, but which were slashing my legs brutally) across to the other side of the river, climbed the embankment, and ran through the brush until we all came out in somebody's back yard. We picked our way through their garden very carefully, walked around to the front of the house, let ourselves out the front gate, and then ran the quarter mile down the road back to where the car was parked. We passed several other people who were just as surprised by the weather as we were, which made me feel marginally less stupid. The ride back to the house was quiet.