I ride my bicycle along the east side of the lake several times a week. Until they get that promised wonderland of construction with bike lanes and narrower streets finished, I have to ride carefully along the sidewalk, bumping over tough turf and tree roots to go around people’s open car doors or mothers with babies in perambulators or joggers who sometimes say, irritated at me, “You shouldn’t be on the sidewalk!” But if I ride in the road I have to put up with drivers who get angry at my presence and honk or zoom by close enough to nearly touch me, trying to scare me off the road, or just expressing their blind, atavistic rage the only way they can.

But the gifts I get from the rides are far more wonderful than the cost of any negative encounters. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen there: a person at night juggling fiery torches in the darkness, looking like some weird Shiva with many arms made of flame; black-clad students practicing martial arts, whirling long staffs and their own limbs this way and that; a crazy old man chasing a goose which swam out into the lake and looked back at him.

Whenever I get to feeling down, depressed, or too sorry for myself, I’m sure to see the best thing of all — the dog with three legs.

I first saw the dog about three years ago, during a very dark time in my life. I’d lost my job through my own screw ups, had injured the nerves in my neck so that one of my arms kept trying to go numb, had wounded myself and others emotionally. I was really feeling like a victim and was quite sad.

Then, riding along, I saw the dog with its owner. There’s something pitiful about a three legged dog. I adore all animals and my heart goes out to dogs with three or four legs. Many of them play around the lake, even though little signs say NO DOGS and I’ve had passing cops yell at me with my own dog when we were walking there. But I’m glad the dogs are there. The three legged dog may have been a pitiful sight to me, but it wasn’t wasting any time feeling sorry for itself. Rather it was running as well as it could after a ball its owner threw up and down the turf beside the lake.

The vision of this dog is still with me today, and I’ve seen it again several times over the years. At that time, I felt like that dog — I’d lost my legs and they’d never grow back, no matter how sorry I felt for myself. But the dog was still out there having fun and enjoying its life and playing. And I resolved then and there to make the three legged dog my mascot. If I had a family coat of arms I’d put it on there, rampant like those heraldic lions. That dog is always a reminder to me to stop pitying myself, raise my eyes up to the shining beauty of the lake right in front of me, and to enjoy my life in whatever form it comes to me today.