I snowshoe around this lake daily. Clearing my head, forcing me to move, fresh air, peace and quiet, the reasons are endless.

One of the houses dropping back onto the lake has a large poodle who runs to the window and barks greetings at me almost every time I walk past. I stop to wave back like a madowman. Occasionally, the dog’s human also pops into frame to wave hello, albeit more quietly than his owner.

With the light making it difficult for me to see inside, I suspected there was a comprehensive record collection along one wall. To confirm, I walked the lake in the evening, because I am a creep who likes to look into lit windows after dark.

I make up stories about people all of the time, and these last two weeks have been no different. As I had done with one other home on the lake, my favourite home on the lake (Vignette 2 eventually coming), I wove a story around the owner because I am a loser who doesn’t want him to be lonely just with a dog. His Maha-Origin Story is that he comes to the lake to get away from his massive family and all grandchildren; when he’s not home in the evenings, it’s because he’s with his girlfriend, and they’re cooking dinner ensemble and enjoying hot chocolate by her fireplace. Her name is Marta.

Last week, I introduced myself the only way possible:

This morning, as I rolled around the lake for the first time, the dog and his owner were waiting outside on their back porch.

Everyone, please meet Whiskey, standing ahead of Richard who is a card dealer at the nearby casino –

By the time I snowshoed away, my legs beneath my floor-length parka were soaked. Richard could barely control Whiskey who, in his extreme-sport excitement ran at me and tackled me fully.

This wonderful little pup is a year old. Because of COVID, he has very little human interaction; apart from Richard, he doesn’t see folks and so kind of lost his mind when I started walking past regularly, several times a day.

I’m once bitten in my small tummy as a child (and needed a tetanus shot in my small ass), and once chased through American streets by another terrifying and massive dog who broke fences to get at me. I am, no question, a little scared of dogs. Whiskey is a maniac, and I’ve never been happier to be knocked literally off my feet, by a crazy animal.

Neighbourly is a lovely thing.

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