Dog Vs. Pool

So this happens:  After the big strong men leave for the day, I'm outside, watering plants and talking to hubby on the phone at the same time. I'm that coordinated. Dusty wanders around, free to explore the dirt pit that is now his backyard. A giant sheet of plastic covers the pool, a thoughtful gesture on the part of the big strong men. Dusty hovers nearby, sniffing to his heart's content.  He takes a step and then another. And now he's at the edge of the plastic-covered pool. And he's thinking, "Doesn't smell like a pool.  What happened here?  I better investigate."  He sticks a paw on the plastic and just like that, he's in the water.  At this point I should mention that Dusty is anti-pool.  If there were an organization against pools, he'd be president. Sure, his breed is all about swimming and water, all about dog-paddling.  Not Dusty.  Dusty went in the pool once as a puppy, and that was that. Dusty goes ape-sh*t if we dare to swim in front of him.  We put him in a room and close the door when we swim. What I'm saying is Dusty and the pool are not friends.  And yet, now he's in the pool and there's plastic all around him.  I yell, "Oh, no!" and throw the phone high in the air, leaving hubby in suspense.  I jump in the pool in my shorts and powder blue tank top. I rescue Dusty and shove him out of the pool seconds before we are both swallowed in plastic. Dusty is okay. The phone, however, is another issue. Where the eff did it go?  I have no idea, but I have other issues that trump the missing phone.  Dusty is now covered in mud and running through the house.  I coax him into the shower and call hubby on my cell. I update him.  "I'm a super hero," I say.  "I'm that strong." Later I find the elusive phone perpendicular to the pot of begonias in the far corner of the backyard. All in a day's work, people. I wonder what today will bring.