By Debora Coty
This is the 15th escape attempt since we fenced our backyard three weeks ago. The conclusion is obvious: My dog doesn’t believe in fences.
I should have known that from the beginning; after all, that’s how the scruffy little dude became part of our family nine years ago. I found him as a one-year-old pup, barely out of Huggies, trotting down the center line of a busy road at rush hour.
The vet said judging by the filthy dreadlocks matted to his bony body and the calluses thickening his well-tread paws, he’d probably been on the road for many months.
Eventually his hair grayed and energy level diminished with middle age; he began sticking close to home.
Then came the ill-fated day when the new fence went up to protect the wee grandbuddies playing therein. I could see rebellion in Fenway’s eyes as he stared down this slatted foe that taunted him with definitive parameters.
So now on a daily basis, naughty Fenway presents me with big chocolate brown eyes and a dirt-encrusted snout. He’s clearly risen to this new challenge as testified by neighbors whom he visits.
Although Spouse has tried to thwart Fenway’s escapes by digging chicken wire into the dirt beneath the fence in all the obvious gaps, he’s managed to exploit all the unnobvious gaps.
He constantly tests the perimeter for weak points like the raptors in Jurassic Park.
I just can’t find it within me to stay angry at the little rebel. Fenway simply doesn’t believe in fences. I can identify with that. I recall many a time over the course of my life when I’ve dug my way under boundaries Papa God has erected. Most of the time my forays into the wild have turned out badly.
There are penalties to pay. Backtracking to do. Holes to attempt to cover up (but somehow you never quite can).
So I’ve learned to respect those boundaries and recognize that the Almighty put them there for my own good. Because He’s my Papa and He loves me dearly.
Even when my naughty snout is clogged with dirt.
“Our God gives you everything you need,” 2 Thessalonians 1:2, MSG.
