Moving the weight in the farmer’s pond was tougher than he thought.  With the foot of muck and silt on the bottom, the weight sank deep into its sticky grip.  Searching for the murder weapon in this dark, smelly cow watering hole would seem to be an easy task.  However, the water temperature of 80 degrees and the periodic strain from moving his pattern caused him to overheat.  The only body parts exposed to the ambient water were his lips and mouth area not covered by his mask and hood.

Moving along the search line now, his thoughts focused on his sense of feel and keeping his searching hand moving in a grid pattern along his grid search line and being careful to search every square inch.  The occasional rock, stick or other bottom debris would cause him to stop and feel its shape to insure it wasn’t the object of his search.

Without warning, he felt a sudden pull on the corner of his lip followed by a sharp pain.  He moved his search hand towards his mouth to feel what was causing his discomfort.  As his hand moved close, the grip loosened long enough to allow his hand to pass and as soon as it did, the pull and the pain returned.  After a few such passes of his hand, he realized he was under attack by a small fish that apparently was protecting its nest.

Like a ninja warrior, the fish struck with lightning speed from all sides to chomp both the diver’s top and bottom lips.  The diver was unable to get close with his defensive moves and could only cuss and scream through his regulator while waving his hand in a futile attempt to ward off the attack.  His first thought was to stand and fight this invisible foe, yet it soon became apparent he was outmatched.  “Retreat or move-on,” his mind demanded, but not wanting to give in to this pond bully, the diver continued to search while struggling to fight off his attacker’s relentless onslaught.

Five feet further along his search grid, the attack ended as abruptly as it had started.  The diver regained his composure and thought of all the years he had searched in different environments as an underwater criminal investigator but could not recall having ever been so viscously assaulted from an underwater creature.  At the end of his pattern, he dug the weight out from the muddy silt and moved and set the search line.  Facing the direction he had just come from, he resumed the search while his mind thought of a popular movie about a great white shark eating people, the movie’s familiar tune starting to play in his head:  Dooooo, Do, Dooooo, Do, Do, Do, Do, Do….

He tried not to think of what might be waiting for him in the darkness as he forced himself forward, searching.  Maybe he had moved the pattern out of the fish’s nest or territory or maybe the fish just wanted a snack and thought his lips were some tasty treat like a worm, or a piece of baloney.  Maybe everything would be okay and he would soon find the weapon.  But without warning there came the first of many more bites.  The diver screamed his surprise and instantly began to move, search and defend.

Once out of the kill zone, the diver finished his pass and moved the weight.  Searching back along the grid was getting tougher, he found.  He thought of surrendering.  He also thought of using dynamite.  But not wanting to be a wimp, he forced himself forward, slowly.  To his surprise and relief, the attacks had ended.  The rest of the pond was safe and after locating the weapon he had begun to forget his horrible experience.

Then, as he slogged his way out of the water, his dive partners started to chuckle.  He looked at them quizzically and asked what was so funny.  They told him he was bleeding and, glancing in his truck’s sideview mirror, he saw the razor-thin bite marks all over his lips and blood flowing down his chin.  With a nod in the direction of the pond, he began telling them the story of his bout with the invisible attacker.  Like good dive partners, they rolled on the ground, having a good laugh at his expense and showing no sympathy for his condition.

After packing up his vehicle, he took one final look at the flat, brown water he’s just searched and thought back on his years as a police officer and how he’d never been defeated in any confrontation.  That record, sadly, had now changed forever and all because of a little fish he could not see in a farmer’s pond or, better yet, a little white pond shark that lurked in its warm, dark waters. Dooooo, Do