There’s a part of me that really doesn’t like camping. I don’t know if it’s the looming inconveniences (what if I can’t sleep? what if we get a huge rainstorm that floods everything?) or the drudgery of setting up camp and then breaking it back down — I just don’t like it in a way. If I truly felt that way, I guess I’d still go camping with my family because they all enjoy it so much, but the truth of the matter is, I don’t feel that way. Well, at times I’m a little frustrated with the whole process of breaking down a campsite, especially after it’s rained. It’s even worse if things are still wet and we have to pack them nonetheless.

But even that is only a mild convenience, and it doesn’t even figure into the joy of the start of a camping trip when the equipment is all set up and clean.

This weekend, we camped at Lake Jocassee for the first time. We’ve been there a time or two — probably only once, now that I think about it — just on day trips, but this was a four-day, three-night camping trip to end the summer. It was supposed to be to begin the summer: our reservation was originally for Memorial Day, but the weather didn’t cooperate. This timing was much better, though: a last hurrah before the start of the school year.

This trip introduced a novel element, though, an element that both K and I were worried about: we brought the dog. She’s not a calm dog; when she gets excited, she’s still not an obedient dog; when she’s around new people and places, she gets very hyper — together, these three facts made us wonder whether we might end up regretting it.

“The dog will be on-leash the whole time,” we told the kids. “Make sure the dog does not get off leash ever,” we repeated. I had visions Clover running around the campground, jumping on people, knocking down unsuspecting children, lawsuits piling up if she got off-leash.

In short, I was a pessimist about the whole thing. “If push comes to shove, we’re only an hour and change away from home. I’ll just take her home if she’s crazy,” I told K. We agreed that it was a sound plan.

We’d planned on renting a tandem kayak for the weekend, and we thought we’d always be split up: one person with one child, the other with the other child (who would be cranky about not being on the kayak) and the dog, which in truth I feared would be more burdensome than then cranky child. It turned out that no one was cranky about being left behind and the dog was — well, more on that later.

And so we arrived on Saturday morning, set up the tent, and went swimming in the cool water of Lake Jocassee. We took the dog with us, and she was predictably terrified of water. It’s what’s made bathing her such a chore that we rarely do it. Things were different this time. L spent last week at K9 Cadet camp with Clover, and one of the things she learned was that you can’t give into a dog’s initial fear of water.

“Just correct her and tell her to come to you,” L explained. And it worked: the dog came out to the belly-deep water where we were standing and awaited further instruction.

“Sometimes that dog’s obedience shocks me,” I thought.

Deciding that was enough for an initial exposure, I stayed with the dog for most of the remaining swim time, alternating between sitting with her and having her walk along the shore in shallow water.

We went back to the tent, fixed dinner, and went to bed early, finishing up the evening with a bit of in-tent gaming.

The kids played Super Farmer with K. The game is odd: a Polish game (at least we got it in Poland and K remembered playing it most of her life) that involves building a farm by rolling dice and getting farm animals. You trade up: x bunnies can trade for y sheep and so on. Until you roll a fox or a wolf, which wipes you out partially or entirely.

The Boy was getting frustrated with losing all his hard-earned gains to wild predators, so they all agreed to play without the dangerous animals.

If only we could play life like that. Of course, we could — it’s not that difficult. All we have to do is agree to play by the same rules and we’d have no foxes or wolves to worry about. K and I talked about that that first evening, looking out at Lake Jocasssee, a man-made lake that is the same age as I. “We can make lakes and send people to the moon, but we can’t get along.”

And while there are some down sides to camping, one of the great up-sides is this: it attracts like-minded people. You don’t find many wolves in campgrounds; you don’t find many overly-materialistic people setting up tents; you don’t find superficial outlooks among the campers. So perhaps that’s some progress.