As I rounded the corner, I noticed I was having difficulty breathing. I had been jogging for 45 minutes. The rain had been falling for three days -- this time.

Every step made me wish for a pair of flippers. I thought about the American mid-west drowning in unimaginable volumes of water. I thought about Noah and the animals and I thought about God. Was he mad at us because Canada's national debt had become $750,000,000.000?

For the last few days, I had been thinking about buying a pet fish to give me comfort during this flush of 1993. After all, if planes could actually fly, maybe people could actually breath underwater... Very unusual.

Every such disconcerting thought amplified my feelings of betrayal. Calgary's reputation for warm, dry summers and midnight blue skies had become yesterday's washed out memory. Until 1991, the city had lived up to its billing exquisitely. Oh well, if the weather proved anything, it was that you can always count your blessings, but you can only store some of them.

My thoughts abruptly turned to the last part of my run, as an eighteen wheeler surfaced on 16th Avenue, wrapping me in a blanket of water.

Three hours later, I left the office of Dr. Smith, startled but unafraid. I'll never forget his words, "The growth of a gill is a natural, albeit unique development, having regard to your genetically amphibious potential -- what with all the rain."

Suddenly, I heard the buzz of the alarm. My wife later told me that a wry smile crossed my lips. I opened my eyes to see the sunlight streaming through the window.