Two close calls with the gators

A few days before we went to Chicago, I was nursing Ethan on our back porch while Emerson was napping upstairs and the neighborhood kids came running by in a pack chasing a dog that was off leash. The dog was hot or thirsty or maybe just feeling playful and decided it wanted to go for a swim in our gator-infested pond to get away from the kids. The moment the dog jumped into the water I was sure I was mere seconds away from witnessing a Discovery Channel-esque nature drama in which the dog gets ripped to shreds by the gator. In a stroke of luck for the dog, the gator was at the other end of the pond when he began his swim and the kids and a neighbor were able to lure the dog out just as the gator approached. I breathed a sigh of relief for the dog.

Not long after that, Emerson and I were playing in the front yard when Emerson was suddenly struck by the urge to throw a rock into the pond. He darted off toward the pond and I ran after him as fast as I could while wearing a sleeping baby and shouting for him to wait for me, which only made him giggle and run faster (we are at that age). He stopped a few feet short of the water and threw his rock in. As I came up behind him I could see the gator sliding into the water not ten feet to the right from where we were standing. I nearly had a heart attack on the spot.

Emerson and I went inside and had a serious talk about a) listening when Mom says Stop and b) staying back from the edge of the water.