A Mexican family was picnicking on a small strip of land that jutted into June Lake— “isthmus” is too strong a word, it was more of a bulge in the shoreline.

They behaved like most Mexican families do near a body of water: the girls were screaming, the boys were swimming with their shirts on, and the men were fully clothed in jeans, boots, and cowboy hats.

Like them, the six of us were staying at the nearby campground with our four dogs. We sat on the rocks, munching on grocery-store fried chicken while watching the two German shepherds splash around in the shallows. The older of the two dogs, Randall, is fond of shitting in water. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a beach, a lake, a river, or even a pool: if he can get in it, he will shit in it. Randall also bites trees. Trees make... Read More