Frieda in autumn is a different dog that I met five years ago. She is still vigilant, still a hunter, still a watchdog. But we have grown much closer and easier. Several times a week, I go up to the top of the hill across from the farmhouse and after walking a bit, Frieda and I sit down and take in the sights and sounds of the woods. She is still alert to any sound or movement – that is how she survived life in the Adirondacks I suspect. When I tell her story, people always say “oooh, poor girl,” about her time in the Adirondacks, but if you know Frieda, you know she probably loved it and was in her element. She still bears watching. Frieda and I have come to love one another and she is almost as affectionate to me as she is to Maria. Some people have known Frieda for years and she won’t let anybody else touch her. Frieda in autumn is a dignified gray lady.