The Figurehead of Determination and the Case of the Zombie Muskrat

A full week has passed since I went out on the boat covered in sunscreen everywhere except my arms — the arms that never burn. Maybe it’s been two weeks. Who’s counting. I’ve been dealing with Hell’s Itch. My left arm — bless it — reminded me of my poor decision making. It throbbed with the kind of heat that makes a person reconsider every sin they’ve ever committed, including the ones they enjoyed.

I do not want a repeat of this level of sunburn ever again. Famous last words.

I was peacefully debating whether to convert my bathroom 3‑tier cart into a smashbook cart — a noble, domestic decision — when suddenly I was yanked into a full‑blown lake adventure. One minute I’m thinking about washi tape storage, the next I’m on a pontoon boat. Again.

This time, I was literally swimming in sunscreen. I wore the white long‑sleeved shirt. I had my SPF 50 hat. If I was going to be on the lake, I was going to be protected. I was not repeating the crispy‑critter incident.

There was a sad reason we were out there — a very sad one — and I won’t joke about that part. Buffy, one of the little dogs, went overboard the day before, and we were hoping for a miracle. That’s all I’ll say. Some things don’t need comedy.

I stood on the bow like the Figurehead of Determination, searching, wind slapping me in the face, hat cinched down so tight it was compressing my skull into a new shape. I wasn’t losing that hat to the Oklahoma breeze. My knees locked, scanning the water like a lighthouse with an arthritic beam.

Hours of searching. At one point, I spotted something floating in the water. I thought, “Oh no…” Marvin handed me a net and went back to the wheel while I leaned over like I knew what I was doing, trying to rescue whatever it was. I almost had it — almost — when Marvin hit the accelerator. I hope by accident. Surely he didn’t want to see me fly off the boat while trying to scoop up this mystery corpse.

I nearly got dumped into the lake over a dead muskrat. A whole deceased muskrat. At least it wasn’t a zombie muskrat.

We left the house before breakfast. Finding Buffy was more on our minds than food. Now we were out on the lake with nothing but water and JoDee’s infamous diet sodas. I had stuffed the last three packages of peanut butter crackers into my backpack. There were four of us, and we were going to have to share like civilized adults.

I tossed one to JoDee like a toddler learning T‑ball. It bounced off the seat, made one dramatic little hop, and yeeted itself straight into the lake. Didn’t even hesitate. Just plop — gone.

JoDee frowned at me. “I was getting up to take it from you. You didn’t have to throw it.”

"Well no, I didn’t. But it was funnier this way."

She did not agree.

Now we were down to two packs of peanut butter crackers to feed four starving adults. Yesterday’s bait bucket was still full of dead little fishies. I was not that hungry.

Then Marvin decided to see how fast we could zip across the lake — full speed ahead with a motor big enough to tow a small house. I was still on the front of the boat, clinging to the rail like a woman who has seen things. At this point, we were no longer searching for a lost dog; we were reenacting a low‑budget action movie.

And of course — OF COURSE — we had no life vests.

Mine is a fancy zip‑up kind I actually like wearing. I left it in the boat last time.

I asked Marvin to toss them in the back of the pickup so they wouldn’t blow out.

He took them inside the house. And that is where they are now.

I can swim, but I prefer not to do it in a lake where dead muskrats float by.

Tomorrow, I’m going to get those life vests myself. I’m not playing that game again.

By the time we got back to shore, my hat had been remodeled like it was auditioning for Project Runway: Lake Edition. I had ripped the elastic out, threaded it through the fancy tag, tied it under my chin like a pioneer woman fighting tornado season. That wind could beat, batter, scream, and threaten violence, but it did not take my hat. Not today.

And underneath all the chaos, there was this heavy, quiet thing riding with us — Marvin’s grief. Every time he revved that engine, every time he flew across the lake like he was trying to outrun the horizon, you could feel it. That wasn’t speed. That was a man hurting. A man who loved that little dog and blamed himself. A man who didn’t know what to do with the ache in his chest except push the throttle forward.

I was sunburn‑free — mostly because I was swimming in sunscreen like a greased otter and kept my arms covered like a Victorian ghost avoiding scandal. I was snack‑deprived, emotionally wrung out, and still rocking like a drunk flamingo trying to remember what land feels like.

But hey — I didn’t fall in, I didn’t get launched into the lake, and I didn’t get eaten by a zombie muskrat.

So I’m counting it as a win — and I think the lake is too. It tried its best to take me out with wind, speed, hunger, and a dead muskrat, and I still walked off that boat upright. Barely.

And next week, we’ll go back out there to say goodbye to Buffy and drop some flowers. Then we’ll probably fish in her honor — because if anyone loved a day on the lake, it was that little dog.