February 28, 2014
The dog truly didn’t understand
he could literally walk right over the chain link fence into the front yard,
since the snow level is ridiculously high. He barked and carried-on, defending
his territory against the invading passerby people and dogs. I finally had
enough, and called him in, relieving him of his insufferable duties. Salivating,
until I gave him a treat, he calmed right down and laid on his cushy
cedar-filled pad, contented to spend the remainder of the afternoon snoozing. The cat got his treat too, though he didn’t
spend half an hour deflecting thieves from the house. He believes, if the dog
is having a snack, he should be tossed one as well. So be it.
We create our own fences, like
the protective mutt. I could most likely escape mine just as easily as lifting
one leg up and over at a time, skirting the sharp bits. Why is it then, we go
‘round and ‘round, not abandoning the very things that prevent us from
screaming success, true love, healthy gums, a chic wardrobe, and organic mangoes
in the middle of a blizzard. We are comfortable, I suspect, in our
dissatisfaction, at least more accepting than being on-edge in the unknown.
Who knows, maybe the snacks are
tastier on the other side of the chain link.
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