It
was one intensely hot day, in the heart of a New Brunswick wilderness.
Mooween came out onto the lake shore and lumbered along, twisting
uneasily and rolling his head as if very much distressed by the heat.
I followed silently close behind in my canoe.
Soon he came to a cool spot under the alders, which was probably what
he was looking for. A small brook made an eddy there, and a lot of
driftweed had collected over a bed of soft black mud. The stump of a
huge cedar leaned out over it, some four or five feet above the water.
First he waded in to try the temperature. Then he came out and climbed
the cedar stump, where he sniffed in every direction, as is his wont
before lying down. Satisfied at last, he balanced himself carefully
and gave a big jump--Oh, so awkwardly!--with legs out flat, and paws
up, and mouth open as if he were laughing at himself. Down he came,
_souse_, with a tremendous splash that sent mud and water flying in
every direction. And with a deep _uff-guff_ of pure delight, he
settled himself in his cool bed for a comfortable nap.
In his fondness for fish, Mooween has discovered an interesting way
of catching them. In June and July immense numbers of trout and salmon
run up the wilderness rivers on their way to the spawning grounds.
Here and there, on small streams, are shallow riffles, where large
fish are often half out of water as they struggle up.
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