Mabel’s Dirty Little Secret 
This time it’s just the dogs and me. My mom is still a bit under the weather from the unspeakable Shingles incident, although improving steadily. She reports in by phone morning and night, so we're still spending quality time… from a distance. Rather typical of this year.
This is also the first time day I’ve ever done my “day job” from the cottage and I can’t deny it was pretty cool to spend my normal commuting time sitting on the dock with a cup of coffee and my furry colleagues. Then I dove into my speechwriting with barely a glitch, aside from rolling thunderstorms threatening the power. In the olden days, I used to have to stand on my head in the corner to use our only phone jack for dial-up Internet. We have few luxuries here—not even a TV—but wifi is one of them.
This year has been full of challenges for all of us, but it’s good to take joy from the small things, like dawn over a lake, and avoiding the crush of the subway into the downtown core on a sweltering day.
Another change I’ve successfully implemented is using our bunkhouse—which is a lot nicer than the main cottage!—as my “she shed” for writing. That’s where Alpaca Lies is getting its start. On noisy weekends filled with jetskis and ATVs, it’s a peaceful retreat from my less peaceful retreat.
Needless to say, the fur kids are having a ball. Our trail walks have been uneventful—my favorite kind. I can do without the drama of hornets’ nests and hackle-raising wildlife. (I think there was a coyote or bear around last time as the dogs got very jittery).
Has it all been smooth sailing? No it has not. I will surrender the laptop to Mabel to take it from here…
Hey folks, it’s me, Mabel.
I wanted to explain what happened properly and without all the boo-hoo victim drama Mom lays on you. I am a dog. I do dog things. If she wanted a china doll, she could have gone that route and saved a bundle.
Anyhow… I keep one deeeep darrrk secret from Mom. Somewhere on the cottage property—I refuse to divulge exactly where—there’s a raccoon latrine.
It. Is. Amazing! Especially after a sweltering summer like this one.
As soon as we get here, I make it my mission to seek out that latrine and have a nice roll. I’m exuberant every day, but the latrine roll really puts me in a vacation mood.
Is it my fault Mom forgets about it between visits? She gets all caught up with unpacking and doesn’t notice I’m gone. I have the stealth moves of a secret agent. And it really doesn’t take long to do my thing if the summer has been as giving as this one has.
Mom finally comes out with her coffee, sits down with a big post-commute sigh, and then… wait for it… sucks in a big snortful of raccoon crap. She looks down at my caked face and neck, and then her face puckers up like a raisin. Sometimes she yells or drops a couple of swears.
Not this time. This time she did something she’s never done before: she gagged. Twice.
I took that as a compliment because while Mom has many weaknesses, she is not a gagger. She’s actually pretty smug about her capacity to handle what Riggs and I throw at her nose. The ravine carcases, the rotten beach salmon, the skunking… nothing fazed her like this simple summer latrine roll.
It was simple, but it was also extremely thorough. I worked it into my ears, face and chin as well as my neck. The buckles of both collars were so permeated that it had to be picked out after four baths. Or was it five? I lost count of how many times she lathered me up and tossed me into the lake, muttering “To heck with the ecosystem. Choke on that, fish.”
Is it my problem she never had time to hook up the hose?
She said she was tired. She said it’s been a really tough summer. Me, I don’t see it. She sits on her butt working all the time and then drives out to help grandma. How tough is that? I’ll tell you what it is… it’s boring! Secret raccoon latrines? Not boring. She should be thanking me, not swearing.
Anyway, she refuses to touch the keyboard now that I’ve had my paws on it, so she wants me to tell you she’s working on a new story. It co-stars a cat, which makes it a hard pass for me. Riggs likes cats but I’d rather just chase them.
She says cats always smell good. So cats make her smile.
I don’t make her smile. Not on latrine days, anyway.
(Although she did chuckle when the big fish scared me, but I failed to see the humor in that.)
Take care, and I’ll be back in touch with my future escapades.
Apparently we’re going latrine hunting tomorrow. I will lead her far far astray. A black beauty like me needs to keep the mystery alive.
Cheers,
Mabel 
P.S. An osprey just smacked the water hard. I hope it got that fish who chased me.
