Solitude was a word I was familiar with; it was a word I was comfortable with.

Many thought it to be a word that corresponded with loneliness, in which someone can not be happy in solitude. Depression is a side effect of solitude and solitude is a side effect of depression.

For some though, for me, that is inaccurate.

By definition, solitude is the state of being alone. There were two very different view points on solitariness: one, it was needed for charging our inner selves, needing time alone so we can interact with others; a self reflecting period. Two, it was incredibly lonely, solitude represented isolation and desertion, only bringing negative side effects as consequence.

Being alone was how I lived my life, I was a solitudinarian, someone who seeks solitude. Lonliness wasn't a feeling I was familiar with. I enjoyed being alone, I relished in the freedom it brought me, I didn't do much with that freedom but I still loved my situation.

I talked to people when necessary, occasionally conquering my anxiety and being able to speak to them without stuttering or panicking.

I was happy with how my life was and I had no trouble spending the rest of my life alone. Some may call that stupid or a waste, but I called it perfect.

My days consisted of me eating breakfast, alone with my dog, working on my third novel, alone with my dog and then going on a walk, alone with my dog.

My routine was disrupted when I had to do my weekly shop at the local supermarket, alone without my dog. I spoke to myself, asking if I needed some more milk or if I wanted any chocolate biscuits to snack on while I worked on my book, ignoring the odd looks I would receive from fellow shoppers, and then head to one of the tills where the cashier and I never talked, only when he told me my total. I would say a quiet thank you and be on my way, feeling extremely proud for pushing myself.

I thought about what I would need to buy from the shops as I walked along the canal, on my daily walk with my cocker spaniel, Loki.

The wind blew, a slight coldness to the late September breeze and my brown hair whipped across my face. The trees along the canals were large, towering over and almost hiding the man-made water chasm. Yellow, orange and red stole the leaves greenness and some were scattered along the ground and on top of the still water, the only ripples being made by the wind, the small fish that swam in its chamber and the ducks and swans that floated atop.

My feet hardly made any noise on the concrete as I walked beside the water and there weren't many walkers, dogs or cyclists today which made it better.

Every time my eyes set on another figure, my heart would quicken, anxiety causing the miniature heart attack, and my mind would switch to overdrive, thinking and overthinking about what I would do if they spoke to me.

Do I say hello back? Do I comment on the weather? Do I compliment their hair?

My mind would swirl and I would panic and by the time I had come up with an answer, which was normally force a smile and walk faster, they had passed without a word.

I would then feel exceptionally stupid for overthinking and worrying so much over such a small exchange which ended in nothing, but that would be forgotten when my eyes set themselves on another human.

But today, the canal route was clear.

Loki walked a few paces in front of me, trotting along happily. His nose would connect to the ground every few steps, sniffing and meandering along the concrete until he shifted to the side, either to the trees to the left of us or the length of grass that ran beside the canal on the right, and would sniff, and then wee a little, before going back to his happy trot in the middle of the pathway.

"Loki don't sniff the faeces." I called out to him as his muzzle closed in on the brown solidified item. He cocked his head in my direction. "Don't do it. If you do it then you'll be like all those ordinary dogs. You'll be basic."

He ignored the excrement and walked forward.

Loki was like me, a loner. When we reached the field that was a twenty minute walk from my apartment along the canal, where I would throw and kick the tennis ball for him, other dogs would interact. They would sniff his butt and try to play with him. Loki, however, forever the recluse, would stick his nose up at them, refusing to partake in the exhange of sniffing and walk away.

Maybe it was my fault, maybe he was copying my behaviour of not wanting to talk with people. Maybe I had unintentionally conditioned him to be this way in the three years I've had him. Or maybe this was just Loki. Maybe Loki was just like me, a recluse.

Some part of me was incredibly grateful that Loki was like this. I've seen dog owners along the canal and on the field, stopping to talk to each other when their dogs stop, laughing and joking.

I couldn't do that. I was glad Loki ignored the dogs and only focused on the ball and me kicking it, I couldn't kick it far mind but it didn't seem to bother him. That meant I didn't have to stick around to have an awkward conversation with another dogs owner that I definitely didn't want to do.

In other words, Loki was my saviour.

It was like he knew when I was uncomfortable, that I was on the verge of collapsing when someone spoke to me. If an owner or just another human tried to engage me in a conversation, Loki would run off or do something incredibly stupid that meant I would have to disengage from the conversation and save him.

I loved the little guy.

We were both happy in our own little world in my apartment that was far away from the actual world. It was because we had each other.

Before I had Loki, I was alone for three years. I never went on walks, I hardly ever spoke to anyone and I was fine like that. It wasn't until Morgan, my closest and oldest friend, suggested that I get a pet, to bring me out of my comfort zone a little. I would need to leave the house, to go on little exapades everyday to take it on walks. I think she thought that doing that would make me want to come out of my bubble and socialise in the real world more often. It didn't but I was grateful she insisted that I buy myself a pet.

I would definitely be a hermit who never showered or brushed her hair or teeth if I didn't have Loki.

I covered the sofa in a blanket once I arrived home, so Loki could sit on it without dirtying my cream cushions with his little paws. I sat down beside him with my laptop on my lap, reading through the first few chapters of my third novel that I was working on.

Loki's brown head nuzzled its way under my arm and I moved the laptop back slightly so his head could rest on my lap.

Loki was a gorgeous brown, golden and caramel with white patches. His ears were long and hanging and his muzzle long. The golden brown on his muzzle was disturbed with white, distinctly in a shape that reminded me of a heart.

"Go to sleep, Loki. You'll need all your energy for tomorrow's walk." He looked up at me, licking my cheek softly, his way of a kiss before lying back down.

I stroked his head softly while I read, lulling him to sleep on my lap.

My first two novels sold really well after I managed to get them published. I wrote my first one during my teenage years, not sending it off until I was eighteen and left home. The second one I wrote when I was twenty one, finishing it just a year ago and now I was focused on my third one.

Deaths door, Death's a'knocking and now, Death's unhinged.

The soon to be trilogy was about a woman who escaped deaths grasp and is being haunted by ghosts who want her to join them, them doing anything to kill her. Until she meets a group of people in the same position as hers.

I didn't think my book was any good, I wrote it for myself, to distract myself from lifes cruelness but Morgan encouraged me to send it off and when I did, they liked it. My only request was that my name stayed anonymous. My publishers and Morgan were the only ones to know who the author of The Death trilogy was. The rest of the world wondered if it was a male or female, if it was a divorcee or a widower, or a middle aged man.

I got paid for my writing, for my books, quite a healthy sum actually that allowed me to live comfortably, and it allowed me to continue what I loved to do, writing in peace.

It didn't require me to talk to people in person, to mingle with co-workers or help customers. I was free to write in the company of myself and Loki, who rarely bothered me.

We were loners but it was perfect that way.