I first arrived in the house when I was only a few months old. Everything I saw was new an unfamiliar. I would watch Jim and Alison, rapt, as they did all the unusual things that people do, things that I didn't understand. They would stare at their hand-held screens for a while, but the big screen that sat at the edge of the room, that they would stare at for hours. I looked at it too, sometimes, but found it to be dull and usually soporific. Even now, I don't fully understand why people spend so much time sedentary, looking at screens, and I don't think I ever will. I do, however, pay attention when I see other dogs on the screens. Usually they're looking tragically at me with some heart-wrenching music accompanying them.
My owners gave me food and water, they walked me, they provided me with everything I needed, and they were friendly with me. They were my closest friends. Jim would play with me, which I did enjoy and look forward to. Running around the house after toys and pulling on colored ropes. I also enjoyed attention, being pet and given treats, but I still spent a lot of my time curled up by the big screen or at the foot of Jim and Alison's bed at night. But as I grew older, I became less and less content with that life.
As my puppy-hood came to an end, my fascination with my world inside that house diminished. I grew tired of the perpetual cycle of life that I had fallen into. Wake up, wolf down breakfast, do my business in the yard, nap while my owners left for the day, play with them when they returned, have my dinner, go for a little walk, and sleep while my owners looked at the screen.
At night, I dreamt of running through the fields, feeling the earth beneath my powerful legs as I chased after hares and other rewardingly delicious fauna. I dreamt of hunting with my pack, playing and running as long as the sun glowed in the sky. And when I awoke to find myself in that same house, it crushed me. It crushed me up until the day I made a change.
It was a rare occasion when Jim and Alison took me to the box that carried them away in the mornings and back home at nights, and put me into the back. I was excited. I almost never got to go in the box. It let me see the world outside the house and the yard. I saw other dogs, I saw other people, I saw hills and buildings. It was all new and exciting. We stopped at a building with an image of a dog and a cat on it that smelled of animals. My owners got out of the car to let me out. As soon as the door opened, I was gone. My owners hardly had time to react before I was out and in the open, no walls, no fences, and no more leash to hold me back. I ran and ran until I was confident I wasn't being followed, and then I kept running. I felt the wind in my fur, I felt the ground beneath my paws, I smelled the trees and the animals. I was craving the novel experiences and adventure I knew I would soon face.
I thought of my owners. Jim and Alison had always been good to me, and a part of me wanted to be safe at the house with them, being pet and playing with them like every night before. But I longed for new experiences and variety in life that my owners had not provided me. Life is finite, and I needed to experience more before my years were over. I was sad thinking about how Jim and Alison must have felt, but I knew I'd return to them before too long.
I was effervescent on the account that it was my first day away from the humdrum life I had had only a day before. I was trotting through an alley in an empty industrial area, with old factories and warehouses all around, when I caught the scent of some dogs. I was hesitant, for I hadn't had any interaction with strays before, but I was excited too. As I approached, three cautious dogs appeared from various hiding places all around me. A brown and white Boxer came out from behind a cardboard box behind me, a solid black German Shepherd came from the side from under a few pallets that were leaned against the side of a building, and lastly, a Siberian Husky with a pure white coat and electric blue eyes came out ahead of me, a slight growl escaping his teeth. I was cornered against the side of a building like a deer cornered by wolves. My hackles rose instinctively as my head lowered and my tail lay lifeless behind my legs. I resisted the primal urge to growl, as I knew I wouldn't fare well in a fight. The animals around me were smelling me up, figuring out what to do with me. The snow-white Husky approached me in the way one approaches a potentially dangerous meal, and I thought my journey could be over sooner than planned. Just as Snow was getting to the attack zone, I was saved in an unusual way. A large, unhappy looking man came out from around the side of the building, holding a pole with a sharp looking wire looped on the end. He was smiling, happy to have found a dog to catch I suppose. He threw the loop around the neck of the Boxer and pulled it tight. At this point, the man realized he was outnumbered. He started to retreat, pole in hand, dragging along the Boxer, but Snow and the German Shepherd had no intention of losing their ally. I watched as Snow changed his target from me to the man and charged. His well built shoulders pushed the man back as his powerful jaws locked onto his arm. I knew that now was my chance to befriend this small pack, and so I went after the pole trap. The Boxer was struggling to escape the death-hold of the wire, contorting his body around in every direction in an attempt to escape. All of the bones and toys and ropes I had ever chewed must have really paid off, as I was able to cut the wire with one powerful snap of my canines. With the wire broken and the man successfully injured and scared out of his mind, he fled and we were left alone again. Snow, the Boxer, and the German Shepherd all agreed that I was an OK dog, and together we fled to eliminate any risk of another encounter with the man and any reinforcements he may have brought with him
It was with these newfound companions that I spent the next few weeks. We went to all sorts of new places together. One day, we found ourselves at a quaint little farm. I hadn't seen very many other types of animals before, and all the new smells and sights at the farm were overwhelming. I enjoyed the company of a few horses whom I befriended right away. They were all very calm and happy to have me there. I chased goats and sheep, all in good fun. I even caught my first squirrel, an achievement I'm still extremely proud of, but let him go free again. I didn't have the heart to make a snack of him. I didn't mind finding my meals in the garbage or munching on berries in the woods. The farm was filled with constant new and fun excursions, and I was sad when a farmer came and chased us away.
Every day with my new friends was a new and exciting experience, and each day I bonded more with my friends. The Boxer, who I called Licks, was very happy with me for saving him from the man and frequently licked my face in thanks. The German Shepherd, who I called Jumpy, was big and tough, but very easily scared. One time, he was going over to check out a garbage pile when a butterfly flew off of an adjacent flower. He jumped so high you would have thought he got electrocuted with a thousand volts, hence the name Jumpy. And Snow, the Husky, was strong and cunning, and my closest friend. One time Snow trotted out in front of a little cafe we came across to distract the people sitting outside. He barked and jumped around, putting on a grand show, while I snuck over and grabbed an untouched chicken breast from someone's plate. They saw me, but it was too late, and Snow and I ran fast until we were clear, and together with our pack mates we dined on chicken. It was the best meal I ever had.
I had accomplished my goal. I had lived, I had experienced, I had made new friends and impacted their lives. And so, I decided then to return to my first and loving family, my owners. I expressed my good byes to Licks and Jumpy, and finally Snow. I was very sad to be leaving them, but it was time for me to return home. I found my way back to the industrial zone, and then the building with the dog and cat on the front, and finally the house.
I went to the back yard and waited near the door, where I used to wait when I had been let out and wanted to go back in. Eventually, Alison spotted me, stopped mid-step, and stared at me. She opened her mouth to say something I couldn't here, and soon after Jim came in. Together, they walked over to me, looking incredulous, eyes wet, and opened the door for me. I hadn't thought too much about them up to this point, but seeing them after that long made my tail wag so intensely that the whole back half of my body followed the motion. I jumped on them as high as I could in an attempt to lick their faces, and they petted me fiercely, speaking softly to me, saying things I didn't understand, but their tone and energy told me they had missed me greatly. It was a spectacular reunion, and I was happy to be home.
Jim and Alison noticed a change in me. I was happier, stronger, smarter, and rejuvenated. They were different, too. They were happier to see me and they no longer followed such routine lives. They would walk me farther to new places and watch screens less. They would play with me at night, or talk to each other while I chewed my bones or sat with them on the couch. Life was less plain and more interesting. I had experiences to remember fondly and old times to look back on. I missed my old friends, but I was happy to be back with my owners, and they kept my life more exciting. I was happy to have done more with my life, and I was grateful that Jim and Alison had broken out of their usual, uneventful routine. After all, there's so much more to life than bones and screens.