Swimming, Splashing & the Stuff Nobody Warns You About Season 1 · Episode 12 Run time: ~29 minutes Host: Michael Dargie Featuring: Dr. Beth Barrett, DVM Michael has spent a lot of summers with wet dogs. Billy, his Staffordshire-boxer cross, was built — as Michael puts it — like a torpedo with the buoyancy of a brick; he'd wade into the river happily and never once swim. Skaya the husky would fetch logs, actual floating logs, until somebody made her stop. And Heidi, the shepherd cross, spent an entire afternoon being quietly, methodically outwitted by a beaver. So when this conversation turned to dogs and water, Michael brought the stories, and Dr. Beth Barrett brought the clinical picture that explains every single one of them. The premise is simple and a little counterintuitive: water and dogs are pure summer magic, and the water is also exactly where a perfect day quietly goes sideways. Not in dramatic, horror-movie ways — in small, easy-to-miss ways that a prepared owner can head off completely. They start with the myth Michael believed his whole life: that every dog can swim. Plenty can't. Brick-built, barrel-chested, short-nosed dogs are dense with muscle, sit low, take on water through big open mouths, and struggle for air before they struggle to float — they end up bottom-down, top-up, paddling frantically and going nowhere. And it isn't only the breeds you'd expect. Dr. Beth spent hours in the water with Briar, a long, lean standard poodle with the textbook body for it, who simply never found the coordination. Her advice: let a dog tell you whether the water is their thing, and never over-face one that says no. From there it's the full swim-day picture. The fetch-till-they-drop dog has no off switch — Dr. Beth's own Zip and Saco would retrieve until they collapsed — which is why you have to be the brakes. Dogs overheat in water, especially as the season warms it up. And then two things most owners have never heard of: water intoxication, where a mouth held open around a ball or a log takes on so much water that it dilutes the body's sodium into a genuine, treatable-but-life-threatening emergency; and limber tail, the terrifying limp tail that sends people into a panic and is usually a few days of anti-inflammatories and rest. The back half is aftercare and Alberta. Rinsing the hot-spot and ear-infection risk off a dog as the water warms. Watching for blue-green algae — that oil-slick or spilled-green-paint look on the surface. Backcountry care when there's no garden hose and no vet down the road (Dr. Beth doesn't leave home without a bottle of Hibitane soap). River undercurrents and post-rain water levels that sweep dogs away. And the underwater hazards of northern "stick ponds," where a hard-charging retriever launches in and comes out with a gash up its chest. Plus the mailbag question Michael wrote himself, because it really happened: are beavers actually dangerous? Yes. Genuinely. And so, it turns out, is Florida. The throughline, as it so often is with Dr. Beth: your dog doesn't always know when to quit, so you have to be the sensible one. Be their advocate, read the day, and when in doubt, head home early. Chapters & Timestamps Time Segment 00:00 Cold open, disclaimer & welcome 01:31 Can every dog swim? (Spoiler: no) 04:02 Teaching a dog to swim — and when not to push 05:30 The fetch-till-they-drop dog: you're the brakes 07:33 Water intoxication — when swimming makes a dog sick 10:27 Limber tail: the scary limp tail, explained 13:18 After the swim: rinsing, ears & blue-green algae 15:58 Backcountry care: no hose, no vet down the road 18:29 Hazards owners miss: hose games, currents & runoff 20:59 Myth or Muzzle? — Does my dog know when to stop? 21:47 Ask Dr. Beth — Are beavers actually dangerous? 25:17 Michael's takeaways, stick ponds & outro Myth or Muzzle? (20:59) The claim: "My dog knows his own limits — he'll stop swimming or fetching when he's had enough." Verdict: MUZZLE IT. Dr. Beth: it's dog-dependent, and drive is the deciding factor. A lower-drive dog will pace itself, be mindful, take things easy. A high-drive dog, left to its own devices, will retrieve until it collapses from exhaustion — it simply doesn't have the self-preservation instinct to stop when it should. As Dr. Beth puts it, if somebody kept throwing something, her dogs would not know when to quit. That's exactly why the owner has to be the limiting factor: the parent, the sensible one, the person who ends the day before the dog would. Ask Dr. Beth (21:47) The question (from Michael — and it really happened): "We had a shepherd cross named Heidi, high prey drive, and there was a beaver at the dam in Beaumont Park she loved to 'play' with. The beaver would let her get close, slap its tail, dive under, and pop up behind her. At first we thought it was cute. Are beavers actually dangerous to dogs?" Dr. Beth's answer, in short: yes — genuinely. Beavers have drowned dogs. A big one can grab a dog, pull it underwater, and hold it there. They're not small. Dr. Beth puts an adult beaver at roughly 40 to 50 pounds — a serious animal, and one that's completely at home in the water while your dog is not. The behaviour Michael describes isn't play. The beaver is using the dog's own prey drive against it — luring, diving, resurfacing just out of reach — to wear the dog out in deep water. Dr. Beth has never had one go after her own dogs, but she's heard enough stories to be genuinely cautious. When a beaver moved into the canal near her a couple of years ago, she changed where she walked her dogs until he moved on. Michael's takeaway: Water and dogs can be pure summer magic — but not every dog is a swimmer, the fetch-till-you-drop dog needs you to call the brakes, and that terrifying limp tail is usually nothing a little rest won't fix. Dry those ears, respect the backcountry, and when in doubt, head home early. Key Takeaways Not every dog can swim, and that's not a training problem. Dense, brick-built, barrel-chested dogs don't have the buoyancy for it. Short-nosed breeds already work hard for air, and big open mouths take on water. Those dogs end up bottom-down and top-up, paddling frantically without going anywhere. Body type isn't the whole story either. Briar the standard poodle had the ideal build and never found the coordination — even in a life jacket, with people holding her up. Some dogs just don't have it. Let the dog decide. Give them the opportunity, never force it. Plenty of dogs will happily wade, paddle the shallows, and cool off without ever swimming — and they get most of the benefit anyway. You are the off switch. High-drive dogs will retrieve until they collapse. They don't have the self-preservation instinct to stop, so the owner has to be the limiting factor. Dr. Beth is blunt about it: it's possible to kill your dog doing something they love. Dogs overheat in the water. Being wet is not the same as being cool, especially as summer warms the water itself. Heatstroke is still on the table on a swim day. Water intoxication is real, and it's an emergency. A dog swimming with its mouth open — around a ball, a log, a stick — ingests enough water to dilute its blood sodium. The kidneys can't clear it fast enough, and low sodium hits nervous and kidney function hard. Retrievers, small dogs, and lean dogs are most at risk. Know the signs. Bloating first (the stomach filling with water), then neurologic changes and vomiting. If a dog that's been swimming or retrieving starts behaving abnormally, get them seen — treatment means a sodium chloride solution and diuretics, not wait-and-see. The garden hose counts. Dogs that snap and bite at a hose spray — often little terrier types — take on a surprising amount of water. It looks like harmless fun; it's one of the main places water intoxication turns up. Limit the game. Limber tail looks catastrophic and usually isn't. Cold water constricts the blood vessels at the base of the tail while the tail is working hard as a rudder. The muscles inflame, the tail hangs limp, and it hurts — often badly. It responds within a few days to anti-inflammatories, warm compresses, and laser therapy. In Alberta it's a snow condition too, seen every winter in retrievers working with their tails down in the snow. Aftercare changes with the season. Cold spring water means watching for limber tail and towelling off so they don't get chilled. Warm mid-summer water means bacterial overgrowth — rinse them off, especially the neck where moisture sits, or you'll get hot spots, skin infections, and that unmistakable smell. Ear infections spike later in the summer for the same reason. Blue-green algae season is here. Look for an oil-slick sheen or what looks like green paint spilled on the surface. Keep the dog out entirely. If they were already in, get them out, don't let them lick their coat, and rinse them as thoroughly as you can. Pack for the backcountry. Dr. Beth doesn't go anywhere without a bottle of Hibitane soap — soaping a dog up mitigates skin trouble until you can get somewhere with water to rinse. A cotton ball or even a Kleenex wrapped around a finger clears water from ears; a proper ear cleaner is better, and diluted vinegar works in a pinch against yeast. Read the water itself. Undercurrents, rising levels after rain, and sweeping river corners packed with deadfall all sweep dogs away or trap them. "Stick ponds" with dead trees in and around them are worse: a hard-charging retriever launches in, hits a submerged tree, and comes out with a chest laceration that can be life-threatening — and still wants you to throw another bumper. Beavers are not a joke. A 40–50 lb adult can grab a dog and drown it, and the "play" behaviour is a deliberate wearing-down tactic. Give them a wide
