Squirrels weren’t nocturnal and, last I’d looked, not particularly threatening, either. I sighed as we bounced along. Well, I bounced, and she kinda slunk.
Unfortunately, Trix couldn’t actually tell me what was bothering her. Or maybe she was doing so, and I just didn’t want to listen.
What really threw me was that she’d been antsy even back at the house. At the moment, her bristled hackles revealed her nerves, and I did my best to ignore my own pathetic human version.
Her blue eye was particularly expressive in the dark. And, I swear, it was telling me I was nuts to be out here, in the middle of the night, running.
I debated reversing course and heading back home, but I gritted my teeth. If I let myself get spooked now, my nocturnal running expeditions were over—which would pretty much mean the end to my training. So I pointed our feet at the lake. Once on the trail that ran along it, I’d be better able to see if anything was really there.
I told myself running in the chilly spring air was so much better than curling up on my dilapidated couch with my greatest sin—chocolate.
At least the rain had finally quit. I juggled Trix’s leash as I unzipped my hoodie and tied it around my waist. My feet carried us away from the residential area and toward the oldest part of Kenora—the original town center.
Once clear of the houses, my dog seemed to relax, finally. She opened her jaws and smiled up at me, moving more freely at the end of her leash. Even wagged her tail as we passed the animal hospital. She liked the clinic. No doubt because she was a healthy critter and got cookies the times she’d been there.
I had an entirely different appreciation for the place. Namely a drop-dead gorgeous veterinarian who, despite my obvious interest, likely couldn’t remember my name. I was reasonably certain, though, that he remembered Trix’s.
Ah, well.
The traffic picked up a bit as we approached Main Street. The lake had thawed early, and the town bustled more than usual. Still, traffic flowed light enough that Trix and I traversed the freshly washed thoroughfare without having to use the crossing—and turned down Second Street South.
The lapping sound of waves increased. Just ahead, the docked float planes rocked against their tethers. We cut through the parking lot and picked up the path that traveled along the lake itself.
As usual, the waves’ rolling motion against the shore soothed me. A few lights bobbed out on the water—late-night boaters, likely traveling to their expensive cabins on one of the many islands. The M.S. Kenora, a sightseeing tour yacht, sat dark and silent at its mooring.
We’d just passed the tented marketplace with its extensive dock when Trix broke stride. Her nose shot into the air, and she fell back again on her leash.
Dammit.Just when I’d started to relax. I scanned the area, but saw nothing of interest. No other living soul, other than those on the few boats way out on the lake, or the scant traffic on Bernier Drive traveling beyond some trees.
Still, my heart sped up again, and a shiver passed through me just as Trix whined and resisted even more, pulling on her leash.
My legs kept moving as a knot twisted tight in my gut. If I turned back now, it would significantly shorten our run.
No.I refused to let paranoia win, so I pushed aside my nerves. This last bit was my customary sprint—I can do this.
“Come on, Trix. Let’srun,”I urged, and accelerated along the damp path.
She hung back for a few strides and then seemed to enter the spirit of it, matching my pace. But she ran close enough to me that her shoulder bumped against my knee.
The path left the trees and curved to follow the lake shore. This stretch was wide open. To my right, a few cars passed on the Trans-Canada Highway, and beyond it, a rail line ran through a mix of open ground and dense trees.
I was totally unprepared for Trix to shoot across in front of me. I stumbled but, somehow, stayed on my feet. She strained at the end of the leash, staring across the highway, toward the tree line, hackles raised. I slowed down, staring too, but saw trees. Just trees.
My heart threatened to leap straight out of my chest as I guided her back onto my left side. “Heel,” I told her.
Again, her blue eye accused me of being an idiot—the brown being almost invisible in the darkness—but she obeyed. The openness of this stretch of path reassured me as we pelted forward, and Trix ran to the end of her leash with her tongue lolling.
I concentrated on my breathing, on the pump and drive of muscle and tendon. If my wishes came true, I might soon be doing this under a seventy-pound backpack. The thought spurred me to greater effort. We flew along the path to our goal.
Which was, in essence, a giant fish.
In a small park off the highway stood the forty-foot-tall statue of Husky the Muskie. Although the real fish was lucky to stretch five feet in length, this statue supposedly represented the wild, natural beauty of the lake itself.
I slowed down when I took the left fork toward the landmark, and then further reduced speed to a jog, letting my body recover from the sprint. Trix bounced with me, invigorated. At this moment, she seemed to have forgotten her worries.
We passed Husky, and I dropped to a walk, pausing to shake out my leg muscles. I paced back and forth until my breathing calmed. It was late, and I should point our noses for home. The chocolate waiting for me had become more alluring. But as always, the lake drew me.
A bench overlooked the water. I used my hoodie to wipe the raindrops off it, reattached it to my waist, and sat down.
