On break, we ran the Cheat River.  Boss Zanzini waved his pistol ‘round while the Bird-Girl flapped and squawked.  The Stone-Eater warned of incoming boulders.  The Man-Drake, the Dog-Boy, the Atlas, the Bearded-Lady, all paddled furiously while the water’s hydraulics played us like scales on an organ grinder.  Being the dwarf in the company I fit easiest out on the stern, so I manned the rudder.  Just when we thought we’d cleared the rapids we rammed into a stack of pine logs.  Swells surrounded us.  Then Kieran, the Bearded Lady, lost her balance and shot off the raft’s port side.  Without thinking, I jumped in after her and bounced about as if on a pogo stick.  Somehow in the confusion, I landed flat atop her, pontoon-style.  Not knowing what else to do, I paddled frantically using my one webbed hand while I held on to her beard with the other.  And as we paddled to safety I thought of my selfless heroics.  I remembered how I’d always hated being lifted in the air and carried away—even if it’s done in the spirit of celebration.  As these thoughts raced through my head, my crowd of fellow carnies gathered around the lady and me.  After checking we were alright, the company enthusiastically congratulated me on my courage.  In the excitement, Alfie the Atlas grabbed my arm.  Sensing he might try to lift me in the air I stepped back.  Instead, he spoke most sternly.  Said he was concerned with the way I seized Kieran’s barb and used my webbed hand as a paddle—that it was demeaning and I should try to be a little more sensitive.