Catching a German Shepard  I'm ice fishing with my friends Stephen Ramos and Rachel Steiner in my other friend Kevin Simpson's ice fishing house. We call it the "beer house". The house is sitting in the middle of the intersection of highway 50 and 6th Avenue in Oak Valley, near Gino Teavor's house. There are four ice-fishing holes in the house, whereas normally there are two. Stephen's rod is a normal size fishing rod, and is sitting outside the house, propped up, like in carp fishing. He gets a bite. His rod tip bends as the slack line peels out. I quickly grab his rod and yell to Stephen that I think there is a big carp on his line. The ice is then gone, and we are in a swampy, marshy area with a little bit of open water. The carp makes a strong run, and I run after it, while letting line out so it doesn't snap, as well as taking line in to keep the line tight. I walk down by the viaduct. Stephen yells that there is a big dog on the end of the line! It is a German Shepard, and it's mad! I slip and fall into the swamp up to my waist. The dog makes a run directly at me. It steps up on a little bed of weeds and growls at me while I squirm in the muck to get into a defensive position.