Sean immediately went into 911 mode and (I’m quite certain) ran on water in an effort to reach Abby while her Dad charged in from the other direction. I happened to be standing next to her and grabbed the line to take tension off the hook, which then simply fell away from her finger (remember it was a size 22 midge).

Though the wound was minor and bloodless, an appropriate amount of attention was made over it before we tried to resume fishing.  Abby declared loudly and forcefully that she wanted nothing more to do with fishing and tried to give the pole to her Dad who, in a moment of great Fatherly wisdom said, “Hey, get back on the horse.” — which is one of the reasons I love the guy so much.

Now She's A Pro

So after a few moments of stares and looks and body language that only a father and daughter can understand, (and during which Sean and I quietly moved away,) the little fisher-girl was back in the saddle, so to speak.

Two Bluegill later, the “Great Hooking Incident” was all but forgotten and order was restored in the universe.

By the time we were ready to leave the park, Abby could claim five fish to her tally. The conversation focused on the catching and naming of the fish we had caught and who had caught the most and the biggest but nary a mention was made about getting snagged – priorities are in fact learned young. Likewise, the car ride home, as in our previous adventure, was a non-stop chatter-fest about the great adventure of the day – and indeed it had been.

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