An Unreliable Narrator of My Own Life

Before I get even a little way into my story, I do want to say; the dog does not die in this one.

There are so many details that I fear I am forgetting, and so many of which I cannot determine if they are real or not. That very fact will probably result in many waving this away as a hallucination, or the ramblings of a mad woman.

But, although the details themselves are murky, I promise that the events themselves are real.

I grew up on the shores of one of the Great Lakes, and in an area where there is frequently more snowfall than parts of Alaska. In 2017 we got 5 feet on Christmas day alone, and while the Weather Channel found it remarkable, the residents of that small city shrugged and said, “It’s not the worst Christmas we’ve had; at least there isn’t sleet.”

But I digress. When I was 13 my parents bought a house outside of the city, situated on some land and with woods on the property line. The woods technically were part of our neighbor's property, but he agreed to let me...