Zeke, the new member of our pack is truly prison trained. Yes, he went through the whole program at the TGIE (The Greyhound Inmate Experience). He can sit and stay, given a big enough cookie, no crumbs thank you. But he came aiming to bust out. On my last trip out we found out just what he can do, left in a crate for 5 hours. The crate was rocked open and he let Bird out on the other side. They had a lovely party after that decorating with found objects (THE TRASH). You have no idea how tasteful a chicken liver container can be in the middle of a dog bed. Or, for that matter, your bed. Never let it be said my dogs are not creative souls.
The opposite of all of that urge for freedom is a really constraining case of the flu. I’ve spent the last week in bed as it’s run through it’s paces. I consider myself lucky to be up in a week.
The upside of a confining illness is that you start to drift. You start to dream. I knew I was better yesterday when I was just plain bored. Then I started dreaming about borders in lattice in terms of a story I’m working on. Don’t ask me what it means. I’m quite unsure. But somehow the well is full again. My chest isn’t quite clear. My stomach isn’t quite settled. But I need to be in the studio again.
I don’t know if we can ever teach Zeke about the safety of his crate. He does go in to rescue the toys I’ve put away there and any extra cookies he can find. It’s sort of like Mr. MacGreggor’s garden. You know it’s dangerous but there are good things in here. I think it’s a doomed effort. For starters, Fin has started to pee in the crate to prove it’s his. I’m for whatever buys me the least amount of laundry.
But I know for myself I need my life sometimes constrained and sometimes flung to the winds. Luckily that happens naturally. I just need to pay attention.