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Too far. It’s taken too long, and now my lungs are burning. I reach for the shivering light above me, but I can’t reach the air—and then my hand hits Bo’s paw again, and this time I grab on.

He lurches against me, but I hold on fast. Pull. Use my feet and my other hand to try to swim upward, and I drag Bo under, but I break the surface.

I pull in a gasping breath and let go of Bo long enough to sling my arm over his neck. He snarls as he surfaces, turning his head, snapping at me. His teeth catch the sodden fabric over my shoulder.

He releases immediately. I don’t think he realized it was me for a moment, but now the snarl fades.

We’re breathing. But the water is frigid, and I know we can’t survive in it for long. Maybe minutes.

The canoe is upside down. I swim toward it with one arm, trying to drag Bo with me. He gets the idea, and a moment later I’m close enough to grab hold of the canoe.

Without my weight on him, Bo swims more easily. But the cold is going to finish us both off quick.

“Sorry, Bo,” I say, knowing I have to move fast. I grab him again, using him as stability so I can heave the canoe upright.

He yelps, but he doesn’t bite me again. The canoe tips, hovers. I shove as hard as I can, dunking both of us underwater again—but the canoe rolls.

It settles upright. Now I just have to get back in without tipping it.

If I try to climb over the side, it’ll just roll again. I tug Bo over to the bow. My teeth are chattering. I can’t feel my fingers or my feet.

Everything in the periphery is starting to look hazy. Not good.

My paddle is floating near the bow. I grab it as we pass and toss it into the canoe. Won’t do me any good to get back in only to be stuck floating in the middle of the lake, freezing to death.

The canoe sits low in the water. It’s most of the way full of water itself, and I can’t believe it’s still managing to float. I grab hold of the stern. My fingers slip, but I stare at them and force them to close.

I push off of Bo and heave myself up. One try. I might only have one try, so I use all my strength, and then I’m lying on the bow of the boat with the end digging into my gut and my face a centimeter from the water filling the canoe.

The water is sinking the boat, but it provides ballast as I drag myself forward, flailing as I pull myself in. My whole body shudders. At least that means it’s still got the energy to try to fight the cold.

The tackle box is gone. There’s just the paddle. With my weight, the canoe is sinking even deeper in the water. I grab the paddle and use it to fling water out of the boat. It doesn’t make a very good scoop, but the water is so high it doesn’t matter.

I work frantically, as much to stay warm as to stay afloat, and Bo paddles alongside, whimpering. When the paddle doesn’t work anymore I use my hands. They’re already so numb it doesn’t matter when I dunk them back in the water.

I don’t know how long I work. It seems like the water level isn’t going down at all, and then I realize Bo isn’t whimpering. He’s quiet now, his movements slower, his head dipping halfway under the water.

If he gets back in the boat, it might tip.

If he doesn’t, he’ll drown.

There’s no question of what to do.

I whistle for him at the bow. He swims around. I sit as firmly in the middle as I can and lean out to haul him up.

The canoe wobbles alarmingly. I pull Bo straight back, lying down and letting him claw his way over me to the center of the boat. I try to keep my weight as centered and spread as I can as we rock to and fro.

The canoe starts to roll. I throw myself toward the other side and so does Bo, and we start to go in the other direction, but I rock back the other way and the boat rolls into place, upright.

Bo scrambles up to the bow of the canoe and pulls himself onto the little seat there, sodden and shivering and panting. I huddle at the stern.

Cold will kill you first.

I don’t have time to appreciate the fact that we are still alive. I have to start paddling.

I don’t know how I make it back. I don’t remember any of it, later, huddled by the fire. I remember gravel scraping against the bottom of the canoe, and then I remember being on my hands and knees on the same gravel.

I don’t remember deciding to get up. I don’t remember walking through the woods, except for flashes of green and a vague sense of pain.