I said before that there’s a lake below our house. From the air it’s roughly an equilateral triangle, one kilometre’s walk on each side. Last year I walked it nearly every day with Topsy the dog — now that the snow’s melting we’ll resume soon — and each side is different.. This is the view from the south, of a sunset.
I don’t enjoy the south side, because there’s a gravel road alongside the lake. Every five minutes a diesel van comes along spewing exhaust and kicking up dust. Then we walk the western side. There is a horse-farm half way along, where they serve teas every Wednesday (the farmers, obviously). This is the view looking across to our house on a grim day last autumn:
Then I noticed these trees…
Nearby I found a collection of leaves floating on the water. It looked like a treasure trove.
Past the waterfall…
And then along a very short northern side which has a view to a small island that I photograph and even swim to in summer…
and walk over to in the winter when the ice gets firm.
I’ve got tons of photographs of the profile of this island that I’ve taken over the years. Big ones, small ones; one day I’m planning to do something with them, I haven’t figured out what, yet. While I take pictures, Topsy is thinking of only one thing…
The dog run. It’s half way down the east side of the lake:
Unless there’s a greyhound she’s the fastest, and she loves being chased:
Next door to the dog run is the beach with its diving board floating fifty metres out. On summer evenings there are families here, the children are swimming while their parents grill sausages (a seasonal Norwegian obsession).
Alma comes down here occasionally. The truth is there isn’t much of a beach here when the lake is full. It’s very deep, apparently…
By now we’re nearly home. We’ve probably been away about an hour-and-a-half. You can glimpse the lake through the trees in the garden: cherry, greengage and pear, and spruce below them.
A Bad Guide 
You seem to be shearing a lot of things around you. But not the horse’s legs apparently, and it makes him/her wear high boots as if he/she were a sewer worker.
Yes, it’s a ‘he’. I hadn’t thought of the sewer image, thanks for that. But you’re right, it is odd-looking.
On close questioning, my daughter says they don’t ‘shave’ the legs because they get cold and lose circulation — get numb, in fact. He was terribly hot in his stall at night before he got shaved. I think it’s because he lives with so many cows. I don’t understand why there’s a colour difference. One theory (my wife’s) is that it’s the colour difference between his winter and summer coats. I don’t think so, though.
That’s a great picture with Alma on the horse and the sunlit ripples in the lake.
How far around is the lake, do you know? It looks like the most serene run on the planet.
(Champ hates running, but I take him anyway. He’d like it, really, if he knew how to conserve his energy; instead he sniffs and sniffs and runs circles around me, and then a couple miles in he’s inevitably trailing, panting, punk tongue wagging.)
I put that it’s 3 kilometres, which is total rubbish. (Eyeballs our page on google maps…) …No, it’s around six km, which is just under 4 miles.
Champ hates running? Of course you’ve got to remember a dog goes at least two or three times as far as we do because of all the running back and forth .
From the air it’s roughly an equilateral triangle, one kilometre’s walk on each side.
How far around is the lake, do you know?
Yeah, good reading there, Jim.
But I’m happy to have elicited the correction, because it did look bigger than that. 6k is a very respectable run — definitely too far for Champ.
Now that I think of it, Champ loves people but he’s not very good at playing with them: he doesn’t fetch; he can’t run for long; and though he likes tug of war, it quickly confuses him. He’s great with other dogs, though.
Most people would say that sounds like an ideal dog.
What are you doing up so late, AJP? We just ate the soft shell crabs — they were fantastic, if a bit heavily coated for me (I really like the taste of crab). Next we take vodka shots; then comes the peaty scotch: http://www.liquorsnob.com/archives/2006/07/compass_box_peat_monster_scotch_review.php. You’ll forgive me if I forget to check this thread before tomorrow — but I just might.
Up so late? A blogger’s work is never done. Hmm, Peat Monster…