Escapism

I have a dog.  A crafty creature, unbelievably smart and cynical (like some other members of my family) and apparently related to Houdini.  That dog will find a way out of a straight jacket and he doesn't even have opposable thumbs.  Even still, I rely heavily on him, so much more now that my daughter isn't living with me.  It's like he's my child stand-in while she's away.  So, whenever I don't feel well or have hurt myself, which sadly happens more often than not, I mope about my house and metaphorically lean on him the whole day.  So, any time I needed to whine after I hurt my foot last Friday, I would sit on the couch and pet Sam who diligently sat beside me.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning, hobbled down the stairs and realized my dog had weaseled his way out of the back yard again.  Dang.  I had to get dressed and pour my 'wake up juice' down my throat. Unfortunately, I failed miserably at that and ended up wearing it instead.  Not exactly my best color - caffeine brown against the teal backdrop of my tank top.  Joyously, the story ended well enough though - I got my dog back after looking for over an hour AND managed to drink my replacement morning chai.

We have a huge back yard and plenty of room in the house but he still can't stand the sight of a fence.  It's like the minute he sees it, he has to find a way to get out.  I suppose people are like that too: give them all the space to roam and they will set up a homestead and often stay within 20 miles of it.  But, put up a boundary and most will try to find a way to extend it, get around it or bring it down altogether.