The dog is drowning. His eyes are wide, bloodshot; his ears flattened against his head. I fling myself into the mud at the edge of the water and reach for him. I won’t let you die here. He tries to haul himself out, but his cream coat is saturated and the weight drags him back down. Labradors are supposed to be strong swimmers, but he looks like an old dog and is only just managing to keep afloat. His head sinks beneath the water. I count one breath. He doesn’t emerge. Two. Come On! Three. He re-surfaces, water cascading off his face as he coughs and struggles to breathe.