I have recently made a new enemy. She is a black, curly-haired cocker spaniel walking a man holding a leash. We pass each other sometimes on the steep, narrow public stairs called the Thistle Steps, which lead from my residential neighborhood in West Seattle down to Lincoln Park. The first time we met, she lunged across the steps toward me. I felt her cold nose bump my hand. The man and I looked at each other — he had an Oh, shit expression — and then I shrugged and kept walking. I wasn’t hurt, only surprised. The second time, the man heeled the cocker spaniel sharply against the opposite railing. He was holding the leash so short that the dog was on her hind legs. “She’s OK,” I said as I walked by. I didn’t want him to choke her. Every time we pass each other now, the dog barks wildly and strains toward me. She either hates me or is afraid of me, which is often the same thing.