At the Pictou Fisheries Training Pool, the Denoons emerged from the changing room in their swimming costumes, Pictou in armbands. They climbed down the steps into the swimming pool. “Alright,” said the lifeguard at the poolside, and with that, the Denoons began to swim about. Port Hawkesbury carried Pictou in her arms as she swam, teaching her three-year-old son how to swim.
Another swimmer saw the Denoons and swam up to them, making sweet sounds to Pictou. Port Hawkesbury smiled kindly. The swimmer, up close with Pictou, touched and stroked him affectionately, making more sweet sounds. Port Hawkesbury giggled blissfully, and the swimmer swam on.
“Hey, Pictou. Can you swim by yourself?” Port Hawkesbury asked Pictou in French. Pictou freed himself from Port Hawkesbury’s hold and swam a short distance, turning around to face his parents. “Good boy,” Port Hawkesbury praised him. “I’m really proud of you.”
Suddenly, Pictou relieved himself into the pool, briefly turning the water yellow. Port Hawkesbury and Stellarton both gasped in shock, but Pictou only stared blankly at them. “Pictou, what you’ve just done is not a very good thing to do,” said Port Hawkesbury seriously. “You’ve just infected the water,” Stellarton told Pictou sternly. “Don’t drink the water, Pictou.”
Pictou shook his head slowly. “Nuh-uh.” “You’re good,” said Stellarton, and the Denoons swam on, Pictou back in the safety of Port Hawkesbury’s arms.
Port Hawkesbury, carrying Pictou in her arms, was about to ride the flume, when the lifeguard stopped her. “Wait. Someone else is going down first.” “Okay, then,” Port Hawkesbury replied, and Pictou nodded in acceptance. The other swimmer got the green light from the lifeguard, and he went zipping down the flume.
A little while later, the other swimmer landed with a splash in the pool below, so the lifeguard green-lighted Port Hawkesbury and Pictou. “Thanks,” she said to the lifeguard, and with Pictou safely in her hold, she zoomed down the flume, snaking and twisting around the numerous twirls and bends at high speed.
Eventually, they both landed in the small pool beneath the flume. Port Hawkesbury swam underwater for a few moments, rising to the surface afterwards. Thanks to his armbands, Pictou stayed afloat, like a buoy bobbing on top of the sea.
“Whoo! That was fun!” Port Hawkesbury whooped, breathing heavily. “You wanna go again, Pictou?” she asked him in French. “Très bien,” Pictou replied in French, and they both swam off to ride the flume again.
Their swimming session over, the Denoons went into the changing room to remove their swimming costumes. Port Hawkesbury pulled Pictou’s armbands off. The Denoons entered the showers, where a naked Canadian Boy was bathing himself, washing his hair. They went under a shower each and turned the tap. Port Hawkesbury washed both herself and Pictou simultaneously. She cleaned Pictou’s backside with her left hand, guiding him with his right hand. Stellarton washed himself, too.
Once they’d showered, the Denoons dried themselves off, fetched their clothes from the lockers and got dressed, with Pictou being helped by Port Hawkesbury. “I’ll need to put a diaper onto you, Pictou,” she told him as a Canadian Boy wrapped in a towel strolled past. Port Hawkesbury plopped Pictou’s hat on his head. The Denoons packed up all their swimming gear and left the changing room.
Sitting at a table in Mrs. MacGregor’s Tea Room & Restaurant, with Pictou in a highchair, the Denoons examined the menus, thinking of what to eat. The waiter came over. “I want some clotted cream scones and tea,” said Port Hawkesbury. “Some buttered toast and tea, too,” added Stellarton. “Some dark chocolate biscuits and milk, please,” Pictou chimed in. “Thanks,” said the waiter, and he left. Suddenly, Pictou relieved himself, and Port Hawkesbury smelled ammonia in the air. She arose from her chair and picked Pictou up, taking him off to be changed.
A while later, Port Hawkesbury returned, with Pictou in a fresh, dry diaper. By then, the Denoons’ food had arrived. Stellarton bit into his toast and sipped a little of his tea. Port Hawkesbury carefully slipped Pictou back into his highchair, and she sat back down. The Denoons started dining, Pictou munching on his biscuits and sipping his milk.
Sitting down on his bed, Pictou was steeped in deep thought, sniffing the air around himself. Port Hawkesbury came in and picked Pictou up, turning out the light and carrying him over to the bathroom. She switched the light on, placed Pictou down on the floor and removed her hat, dress and underwater. She repeated the procedure with Pictou, disposing of his diaper. Port Hawkesbury plugged the bathtub and ran the taps.
A little while later, the bathtub was filled with lukewarm water, ready to be used for a hot bath. Port Hawkesbury turned the taps off and lowered herself into the bathtub, sitting down on the floor. She placed Pictou down on the floor, too. Pictou turned to face her.
Port Hawkesbury fetched an old saucepan and scooped up some hot water, splashing it over herself and Pictou. She retrieved a minty shower gel and applied a handful to Pictou and her body. Fetching a sponge, she scrubbed both herself and Pictou, washing soap off each other.
All of a sudden, Pictou relieved himself into the water again, briefly tinting it yellow. Port Hawkesbury gasped in shock, and she disapproved. “Dirty Acadian Canadian Boy,” she called Pictou rather sternly. She splashed some more hot water over herself and Pictou. “Sorry,” Pictou apologized in French. Port Hawkesbury accepted Pictou’s apology. She cleaned herself and Pictou’s backside with her left hand, guiding his right hand through. Port Hawkesbury shaved her underarms with a little soap and her razor, Pictou watching.
Port Hawkesbury splashed a finishing bowlful of water over herself and Pictou, then she unplugged the tub, picked Pictou up and raised herself from the bath. Wrapping both herself and Pictou in a towel, she opened the door and left the bathroom, turning out the light.
Entering Pictou’s room, Port Hawkesbury switched the light back on, shut the door behind herself, drew the curtains and dried both herself and Pictou. Port Hawkesbury slipped a fresh, dry diaper onto Pictou, then she fetched his light green pyjamas and dressed him into them. She slipped into some clean underwear and her nightdress, plopping her hat onto her head, and plopping Pictou’s hat onto his head. Picking Pictou up, Port Hawkesbury opened the door and turned the light off, carrying him downstairs.
Pictou lay in his bed, deeply asleep, when he suddenly relieved himself. A wet patch formed on his trousers. His bedclothes soaked in urine, he stank strongly of ammonia. Port Hawkesbury entered the room, catching the ammonia stench in the air. She picked Pictou up and carried him over to the bathroom, closing the door behind herself and laying Pictou down on the changing table.
Port Hawkesbury caught sight of the wet patch on Pictou’s trousers, and she slowly shook her head in disbelief. Removing Pictou’s wet trousers and panties, she cleaned his backside with a piece of toilet tissue and slipped him into a fresh, dry diaper. “You’ll just have to wear only this for now, Pictou,” she told him rather sadly. Pictou understood.
Port Hawkesbury picked Pictou up and opened the door. She returned to his room and tucked him back into bed, pulling his wet duvet over him. She left his room, shutting the door behind herself, and Pictou went back to sleep, somehow sleeping the rest of the night in peace, what with his bedclothes still wet from his accident.