Do you know what it’s like to live the life of a dog? Sometimes feeling trapped behind the fence of your owner’s home can make you quite uncomfortable.

But what if you had the chance to leave? Would life be better? You’ll soon find out in . . .

The Encounter

     I live at 333 Cherry Tree Lane. At least that’s what I heard them say was on the tags that hung from the collar around my neck. I love this place—lots of room to poop, play, and explore. And there are plenty of vibrant flowers to smell and critters to chase. However, at times, this beautiful chain-linked fenced property feels somewhat confining.

     Such was the case on this warm August day. The sun shined, not a cloud in the sky. I romped up and down the length of the fence, which protected the perimeter of my yard. Although I loved my family, today I felt imprisoned inside a small portion of a world that had a lot more to offer beyond my gated compound.

     As my boredom reached an excruciating level, I noticed the gate had been left ajar. Restless to see what awaited me in the world beyond the fence, I nudged it with my nose, pushing it open enough to make my escape.

     “Oh my!” I yelped. Freedom felt good. I began running with an unburdened enthusiasm. 

     I started down Cherry Tree Lane, as I always did on my morning walks with my master and friend, Mort. I gazed at the basset hounds, cocker spaniels, schnauzers, and mixed breeds like me, and others of all sizes and shapes. They walked with pride on their leashes, controlled by owners, both fit and flabby men and women, following behind them.

     One, a basset hound, named Irving, gave me a quizzical look and grunted, “Where’s your Mort?”

     I smiled and snorted back, “On my own today,” and I danced off.

     I turned left on Witherly Avenue and then right onto Main Street. As Mort had taught me, I sat at each corner, looked both ways to avoid oncoming traffic and then continued on my way. 

     Main Street was a fantastic place. Restaurants and markets of various kinds produced a myriad of smells. My sensitive snout wiggled out of control. One shop, in particular, always aroused my hunger for exploration. The pungent odors from this establishment were so inviting. I stared at the store and wondered how I might get in. I already had broken out of prison. Could I now break into this new and exciting arena?

     My mind filled with ideas of what I might find behind the golden glass doors. My head moved back and forth as I watched them open and close as patrons went in and out of the shop to conduct business.

     I can get in. I know I can. I’m quick and agile. Chances are, with my speed, they won’t see me enter. But, can I afford to take the chance? What if I get caught? My future could be ruined. I might be sent to the pound—the real prison.

     However, the aroma coming from within had roused my sniffer to new heights. I could no longer ignore the yearning. I had to breach the entry and make my way into the store.

     I scrutinized the area around the shop’s entrance and awaited my opportunity. It seemed like an eternity had passed, when a couple approached. I tried to look inconspicuous.

     “Look, Myron. What a cute little dog,” the lady gushed.

     “Wonder what he’s waiting for Maggie? Seems to be on a mission.”

     Was my objective so obvious? I thought to myself. I didn’t react to their words and they continued walking by the shop I eyed with great desire.

     Then I viewed a shopper, carrying a large, striped cloth bag, walking toward the store. He grasped the gold handle on one of the glass doors, swung it open wide, and trudged into the shop. This was the opportunity I’d waited for, the chance I had to take to satisfy my curiosity and the gnawing hunger within me. I lunged forward, slithering through the door as it closed behind me.

     Once inside, I moved with caution in the direction of the smell of meat coming from the rear of the store. As I neared my mark, I lowered my body to avoid detection. I crawled toward my goal, my belly dragging on the floor and my tongue hanging out the side of my mouth. Saliva dripped down both sides of my jowls. My heart pounded in anticipation of the acquisition of the “spoils of war.”

     The butcher placed a large slab of juicy tenderloin on a magnificent, bright silver table in the cutting area in the back of the shop. My passion to acquire this prize heightened beyond anything I’d ever experienced before. I needed to make my move and I had to do it now.

     I approached with the caution and precision of a leopard stalking its prey. Squinting, I focused on my target. All the muscles in my body tightened as I readied myself to spring into action. I counted, one, two, three, four . . . ten. It was now or never. I leaped.

     “Oh, no!” I squealed. In mid-air, I realized the butcher had spied me—the anger on his face unmistakable.

     He screeched, “Get your tail-waggin’ butt outta here.” And with cleaver in hand, his size elevens moved in haste toward me. 

     I plummeted to the floor and tried, with little success, to catch my breath. With no time to think, I tucked my tail between my legs and scampered through the shop and out the now partially open door to freedom. My quest, so close, yet out of reach. My feast—it wouldn’t be today and maybe never. 

     I scurried down Main Street heading as fast as I could toward Witherly Avenue. I stumbled as I turned the corner onto Witherly. Not watching where I was going, I crashed into something or someone. Scared out of my mind, I stared up into the warmest, kindest eyes. I felt a gentle hand run over my head.

     “Where have you been, Winston? I thought I’d lost you forever,” a soft, mellow voice said.

     My whole body quivered with excitement. Our love rekindled, Mort hooked my leash to my collar. I pressed my torso close to his leg. It felt so good.

     “You must have had quite an adventure, boy. Let’s go home. A very special dinner is waiting.”

     “Ah, my feast will be today after all,” I yelped in utter delight.

Copyright © 2014 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.