{"product_id":"tales-of-al-isbn-9780593319376","title":"Tales of Al","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe moving, inspiring story of Al, the ungainly, unruly, irresistible Newfoundland puppy who grows up to become a daring rescue dog and super athlete—part of Italy's elite, highly specialized corps of water rescue dogs who swoop out of helicopters and save lives.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLynne Cox—acclaimed best-selling author of \u003ci\u003eSwimming to Antarctica\u003c\/i\u003e—is internationally famous for swimming the world’s most difficult waterways without a wet suit, and able to endure water temperatures so cold that they would kill anyone else, recognizes and celebrates all forms of athleticism in others, human or otherwise. And when she saw a video of a Newfoundland dog leaping from an airborne helicopter into Italian waters to save someone from drowning, Cox was transfixed by the rescue, and captivated by the magnificence, physicality, and daring of the dog. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eTales of Al\u003c\/i\u003e is the moving, inspiring story of Cox’s adventures on Italy’s picturesque Lake Idroscalo, as witness to the rigorous training of  one of these spectacular dogs at SICS, the famed school that has taught hundreds of dog owners how to train their dogs—Newfoundlands, German shepherds, and golden retrievers—for this rescue operation. Cox writes about coming to know the dog at the book’s center, Al herself, from puppyhood, an adorable but untrainable chocolate Newfoundland—about the dreams, expectations, disappointments, and vision of her trainer and about realizing the dog’s full potential; striving with all of her canine might to become an expertly trained, highly specialized water rescue dog.LYNNE COX was born in Boston, Massachusetts, and grew up in Los Alamitos, California. She set open-water swimming records all over the world, swimming without a wet suit. She was inducted into the International Swimming Hall of Fame. Her articles have appeared in many publications, among them \u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker, The New York Times,\u003c\/i\u003e and the \u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e. Cox lives in Long Beach, California.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHot Chocolate and Beth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe hot summer sun set, the humidity was high, and the mosquitoes and black flies were humming as the moon rose above the slowly swaying pine trees along the edge of Snow Pond in Maine. It was time to escape from the heat and weight of the world and go swimming.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI jogged from the family camp across the soft lawn in my  swimsuit  with  sweat  sliding  down  the  backs  of  my knees, hair sticking to my head, swatting mosquitoes, and breathing in black flies. I dove off the wooden dock into the water.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA cool breeze as soft as a whisper flowed over my body and  suddenly  my  hands  cracked  the  surface  of  the  inky black pond. Water exploded around me and I felt myself gliding  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  blackness.  My  body was absorbed by the darkness and sounds above the water were  extinguished.  It  was  so  peaceful.  I  only  heard  my heart  beating  and  my  breath  rising  in  a  slow  stream  of silvery  bubbles.  My  body  was  suddenly  light.  I  felt  like I was floating in a dream. I was seven years old and in a state of awe.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere was something magical and thrilling about being in the pond at night when the colors of the world disap-peared  and  the  water  and  land  became  shades  of  black, white,  gray,  and  sparkling  silver.  Shapes,  lines,  textures, and light became more abstract; it was like stepping into a  black and white  photograph.  In  the  darkness  I  could merge  with  the  water  and  the  world  and  feel  a  deeper connection to both.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy  arms  were  outstretched,  giving  me  balance,  and my  feet  were  dangling  below.  I  sensed  something  moving around my feet, fanning the water and moving close. Suddenly  I  felt  it  nibbling  on  my  little  toe.  I  jumped, screamed, and kicked my feet as whatever it was started sucking harder, and I tried to pull my toe from its mouth. And  then  I  felt  a  swarm  of  creatures  nibbling  all  of  my toes. Fraught with fear, I frantically pulled to the surface, sprinted to the dock, curled my legs under my body, and held on to the side where my mom and dad were standing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Something is biting my toes!” I yelled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy mom laughed in her warm musical voice and said the same thing happened to her when she was little. They were  sunfish,  small  fish  the  size  of  her  hand.  They  ate whatever  they  could  fit  in  their  mouths.  She  said  there were  larger  fish:  white  and  yellow  perch,  bass,  pickerel, and eels that lived in the lake grass and near the lily pads, but they were not interested in eating toes. That made me relax, but not for long.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eElizabeth, our three month old Dalmatian, whom we called  Beth,  was  standing  near  the  dock’s  edge  making sorrowful sounds. Her whimpers and whines were piercing  the  quiet  night.  In  the  darkness  the  332  black  spots all over her white body were difficult so see. A glimmer of  moonlight  reflected  in  her  soft  brown  eyes,  and  she looked afraid. She was panting. Her breath was hot on my face. I petted her to try to reassure her, but she would not be consoled. She knew we were going swimming and did not want to be left alone. She pulled away and protested with loud and anxious barks. She tucked her tail between her hind legs and crouched down. She wanted to be with her family.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy  mom  jumped  in  the  water  and  turned  toward shore. When Beth saw her dark form moving, she went wild and ran to the end of the dock. My mom scooped Beth up in her arms and carefully held her in the water. Beth  started  moving  her  tiny  paws  in  a  beginner’s  dog paddle, making a lot of splash.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy mom guided Beth toward my dad, and when she was  right  in  front  of  him,  she  let  Beth  go.  He  immediately  caught  Beth,  praised  her,  and  lifted  her  up  to  give her a hug. She surprised him by licking him all over his face. He laughed hard, a deep belly laugh, and for a few moments,  he  held  Beth  and  waited  for  her  to  catch  her breath. My mom took a few steps back, and then my dad gently set Beth down in the water so she could paddle to my  mother.  They  made  sure  that  Beth  felt  safe  and  she could trust them. My parents were teaching Beth to swim the same way they taught my brother, sisters, and me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy  siblings  joined  us  in  the  lake  and  we  swam  with Beth. She wanted to keep going and going, but my mom said  she  had  done  enough  for  the  evening.  Beth  was  a little puppy and this was a new exercise for her. My mom did not want her to overdo it or she would be sore and overtired and not enjoy swimming.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBefore  my  mom  lifted  the  puppy  from  the  water  I asked if I could hold her for a minute and feel her swim. Mom made sure I had a firm grip on her, and Beth started paddling at a good pace. I felt her speed and power, until Beth suddenly froze.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA high, haunting, and beautiful sound burst through the  air.  The  sound  became  suspended  in  the  sky  and echoed across the pond. The darkness made it feel eerie.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy dad whispered, “It’s a loon, a large black water bird with red eyes and a pointed beak.” He explained that loons are  amazing  swimmers  and  divers  and  they  build  their nests in sheltered coves or on the islands near the center of Snow Pond— places undisturbed by people. They choose areas where the water is clear where they can see below the surface. In the shallows they can hunt for salamanders and frogs, and they can hold their breath for fifteen minutes and dive up to fifty meters underwater to catch small fish. Their feet are large and they use them like flippers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe loon was calling his mate. He hooted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA  few  moments  later,  with  a  long  wavering  call,  she answered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe replied. He was close to us, his voice louder than hers.  He  called  again,  homing  in  on  her  plea,  trying  to find their nest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe directed him with a long, mournful wail.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTheir calls and answers started to overlap, and the pine, beech, and maple trees rimming the shore created a natural amphitheater, amplifying the cascading birdsong.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe saw a flash of silver and heard a large splash. Beth jumped.  She  was  startled  but  not  afraid.  The  loon  surfaced  only  ten  meters  away.  Moonlight  reflected  off  his silvery feather necklace and made it glow and flicker as he paddled cautiously past us.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe  female  continued  calling  with  long,  loud  wails. Her mate answered and suddenly flapped his wings hard and fast and lifted his heavy body off the rippled pond. She continued making her haunting calls and hoots until they united in their nest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy dad explained that loons were special to the Algonquin Indians, who believed that the birds carried divine messages.  The  Algonquins  were  right.  We  can  see  the mystery, wonder, and magic in the natural world through loons and their exquisite songs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBeth  was  starting  to  get  chilled.  She  was  shivering  in my hands. My mom took her from me and carried her out of the water. My dad gently dried her with a towel. Beth loved the feeling of the towel brushing against her skin. And  when  he  dropped  his  face  near  hers,  she  stuck  her wet black nose onto his cheek. He laughed and carefully dried her ears, making sure there was no water remaining in the canals.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen my dad set Beth down, she wiggled and wiped her  body  against  his  long  leg,  wagged  her  whiplike  tail, and then she sprinted across the lawn and ran in a large circle  around  us.  We  were  a  swimming  family  and  she seemed to love swimming as much as we did.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe  night  had  become  chilly,  so  we  hurried  into  the camp, where my grandparents were waiting. We crowded around the black iron woodstove and felt the warmth radiate across our bodies. Our muscles eased and relaxed. The burning  wood  smelled  so  good;  the  smoky  fragrance  of sweet maple, earthy oak, and spicy pine filled the kitchen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy  grandfather  Arthur  asked  us  to  step  back  so  he could lift a burner off the stovetop and feed more wood to the fire, so my grandmother Elaine could heat some milk and  make  us  hot  chocolate.  Inside  the  stove,  the  wood glowed  bright  orange  and  yellow  and  crackled.  Sparks flew as my grandfather added split logs to the hole in the top and the room gradually became warmer. A few minutes later, my grandfather handed me a cup of steamy hot chocolate. Carefully, I took it with both hands and drank it. The chocolate was sweet, creamy, and rich. The drink tasted delicious and warmed me up after the cool evening swim.The Making of a Super Athlete","brand":"Knopf","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303224725733,"sku":"NP9780593319376","price":27.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593319376.jpg?v=1767737751","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/tales-of-al-isbn-9780593319376","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}