It's a crock!

Crock, emerging from a lake, Newfoundland.

It was a warm, sunny day in the middle of summer.  The few clouds in the sky bobbed about like marshmallows on a blue bed of jello.  We were enjoying a moment of calm during our trek across country.  It was 1984, and George Orwell's vision of the future needed a few more decades to evolve.  The blue lake beckoned to us, its tepid waters luring all onlookers into its calm embrace.  Some of us were successfully lured into its murky depths, others however were decidedly more cautious.

The contrast between the warmth of the day and the cool of the lake eventually won most of the ambivalent over.  Soon Frisbees were being thrown and caught, and little hands were busily hauling buckets of water towards their fortresses of sand.  It was, by all accounts, an average day at the lake.  It was not until someone noticed a peculiar beast emerging from the shoreline that mayhem was unleashed.

They called it "Crock," a green and hideous morph between crocodile and lion.  It rose out of the shallows onto the beach, opening its maw to reveal cruel teeth capable of dismembering limb from torso with ease.  A child asked their parent, "What's that?" while pointing.  A scream sounded the alarm, and suddenly everyone was running for their lives.  Children were whisked up; provisions and comforts abandoned, and the population as a whole merged into a rapidly retreating mass.  Through it all, Crock kept plodding along.

It was the fellow with the camera who did not flinch.  Being roused by the mob and their din, he did what any photographer would do - grab the camera and head toward the ruckus.  Soon, with everyone gone, he alone was left to gaze upon this unique creature.  What was peculiar about the situation was the lack of attention the supposedly malevolent beast had for the fleeing crowd.  Surely a such hungry and ghastly denizen would turn to such chewy morsels with glee and seek sustenance.  Those jaws, after all, could easily separate body and limb with ease.

Yet, it seemed that Crock was not your average malevolent monster.  There was a certain calm allure about this creature.  Perhaps its vicious persona was attributed to it by an overabundance of caution.  So, after snapping a few images, the lone photographer approached the terror.  Instead of being torn apart, or worse decapitated, the thing rolled on its back.  It seems that it was more interested in tummy rubs than dismembering.  Obliging, the photographer imparted that for which the creature searched.  After a few moments of this new found affection, Crock turned around and sought refuge into the lake from whence it came.

All that is left is the pictures.  Crock has not been seen since, but for one, this photographer wonders what would have occurred should his tummy-rubbing skills had not been up to par.