An alligator lives in the lake behind our new house. My husband named him Fred.

We knew he was there before we moved in. In fact, since our neighborhood is focused on building and living with respect for the marshlands and wildlife, there are alligators in every standing body of water big enough to hold them.

I was initially very nervous about this, and planned to stay confined to my beautiful new house and wonderful screened porches. I thought to keep the doors locked and take our grand-dog out only on the road, and only for long enough to do his business. I thought if I put my granddaughter–newly walking–on a leash when we’re outside, and bar the doors with tables and chairs when we’re inside, I could keep her safe.

To justify moving to this place, I told myself that people have been living in these marshes for thousands of years–with alligators–mostly unscathed. Of course, there have been incidents, but compared with the millions of people involved, they are actually pretty rare. I also did research to find that not only are you not likely to have a dangerous encounter with an alligator as long as you leave it alone, you are way more likely to be killed by a snake or a spider or–the most dangerous of all–a deer jumping in front of your car. That’s right. The most lethal animals in the southern marshlands and forests are those sweet, beautiful, delicate, landscape-munchers.

Still I was afraid.

But now, not so much. Fred is a pretty cool dude. He cruises along, looking like a log in the water, his eyes and nose the only thing to let on he’s a living creature. We just had a thunderstorm, and when it was at its peak, he submerged out of view, occasionally surfacing to check the weather and disappear again when it wasn’t to his liking. He comes out to lie on the bank, but the only way you know he’s there when you walk by him, is the sound of him going back in the water where he’s safe from you. Humans are the apex predators in all situations, and most animals, even dangerous ones, will avoid us unless we scare or annoy them.

Or feed them. They don’t consider us food, but if they come to consider us a source of food they will expect to be fed. And they won’t hesitate to knock on the door if they’re hungry once they taste Lays potato chips. “No one can eat just one.”

We have tons of birds of all sizes, and they live in the lake with him. They avoid him, fly away from where he is, but they just land on the dock or another part of the bank. I’m sure he gets one every now and then, but it doesn’t stop them from living there. Turtles, too.

We’re coming up on mating season, when I understand they will roar at their females to attract them. Once the lady gators lay their eggs, they are ferociously good mothers. I can relate to that. To this day, I’m ready to fight off anyone who threatens my babies, even if my sons are both grown men and my granddaughter has her own mother and father to protect her.

I am not afraid any more, but I am cautious. The key is respect. There is no reason for me to interact with him, or he with me. If I see him, I don’t stop walking, but I change direction to give him a wide berth. We still walk on the trails by the marshes, but we keep the dog off the bank and on a leash. As for the granddaughter, we’d keep her away from the lake even without an alligator. She can’t swim.

So Fred and I–and the thousand or so other residents of our neighborhood–are cohabitating very nicely. I find him far more interesting than he finds me, but I’m still not inviting him to brunch. Admiration from a distance works just fine.

That’s the way we both like it.