My mother’s neighbor is sick. Very sick. His concept of time no longer moves in years, but in weeks. His wife takes care of him. Their dog senses this and prefers to be outside, in front of the house. There’s no time for long walks, as he was once accustomed to. I feel sorry for the neighbor, his wife, and the dog. I can’t really help, or only a little. Now, instead of skiing, I am spending a week with my mother. Harsh polar air is tightening around this part of Europe and the temperatures are well below freezing. What makes it bearable is the sun, which shines from morning until afternoon, creating a cold but fantastic landscape in the small village.

I go running. Since the village is at the foot of a small mountain, almost all paths lead upwards. That brings quick warmth. I think to myself, why run alone when I can take the dog? He’s 4 years old, strong and likes to run. The only problem is that following commands reliably isn’t one of his strengths. Without a leash, I wouldn’t have dared take him along. The neighbor has a leash that’s perfect for running. I attach the leash to the dog’s collar. He’s been with me on runs before. Now he looks at the neighbor, who makes no move to join, with a questioning look, and only reluctantly does he allow himself to be coaxed into walking.

We run. The dog is much faster than I am. But he’s not stupid and doesn’t want the collar to painfully tighten around his neck. So, he adapts to my pace without much trouble. As the mountain gets steeper, he keeps adjusting his speed to mine. Clever animal! The only annoying thing is that at the start, he runs from left to right and back again, which doesn’t make it any easier for me. Of course, he has to mark a lot of spots, but he’s so fast and the leash is so long that it hardly bothers me. After a kilometer, we’re a well-coordinated team. The forest is frozen, quiet and seems deserted. In the silence, though, you can hear the faint sounds of the wood. Otherwise, no animals, no chirping, no voices in sight. Then, about halfway, a man suddenly appears out of nowhere with a basket. I think to myself, this is almost like the fairy tale “Marie and the Twelve Months.” In that story, Marie was sent deep into the forest in the middle of winter by her evil stepsister to collect flowers. Who could have sent this man? What could he be collecting? I stop and ask him. He says he’s collecting mushrooms and shows me a few mushrooms that barely cover the bottom of his basket. I can hardly believe it. I didn’t think there were mushrooms that could be collected in midwinter. You can always learn something new.

We continue running along the road and suddenly one of the very few vehicles we’ve seen today stops. A woman gets out and the dog looks at her with obvious excitement. She asks me if we need help. Everyone in the area knows how bad things are for the neighbor and everyone knows the dog. Many would have liked to help. But I think, for the neighbor, no one can help anymore. No, I don’t need help. She gets back in and drives off. Suddenly, the dog stops and refuses to run any further. It’s obvious he smells something. I hold the leash and look in the direction he’s sniffing. A low branch has a piece of animal skin, smeared with blood, hanging from it. It’s hard to tell what animal it once was. Pulling the dog away from the spot requires strength, as nothing I say seems to help. We complete the loop and run back home. The forest is magically beautiful. My cheeks are bright red from the frost, my soul is calm and my calves ache. It’s been a long time since I’ve run on this mountain. The dog seems satisfied with me. The neighbor does too.