On the other side of these two fences lives Samantha the dog. When we first moved here around three years ago, I used to see her tied up outside, and we'd eye each other and exchange some friendly whining and high-pitched barking—you know, just to say hello, since we could never get close enough to sniff each other's rear ends. That dog has never been on a walk, not even around the block, can you believe it? The humans in her house don't do a lot of physical moving around, except when they're barbecuing, and then you can hear their teeth crush and chomp against their blackened burgers as they yell at the kids to get somewhere: Get in the house. Get in the backyard. Get away from the fence. Get away from the car, the curb, the grass, the tree, the green-water pool. Anyway, even from this side of the fence, I've learned their behavior rules for Samantha. They sit; Sam should sit. They yell; Sam should be quiet. They eat; Sam should lie down. But, it's like having a moody parent or teacher or national leader. You never know when you're going to be sent to your room or the principal's office or into a war zone.
Well, two years ago, they decided there were too many foreign dogs and related varmints crossing on to their property through our peek-a-boo chain-link fence, so they hammered up a six-foot wooden fence all around them and put the uglier side toward the neighbors—us on the north side and the guy in the big white house on the south side, but he's been in jail for over a year, so he doesn't care. For me, it doesn't matter that the fence is ugly, because dogs will never understand why humans consider some things beautiful and tasteful and other things ugly and tacky. These are definitely cultural biases particular to humans. Dogs think all that worry about stuff is stupid.
What's ugly is that Sam is stuck behind the fence and never gets to go anywhere. It so sucks. When Shane and I sit in the driveway, we can hear Sam running back and forth on the other side as though she's beating her paws against the edge of some fourth dimension that might not even exist, like in the Twilight Zone: "Pant. Pant. Da-da-dum, da-da-dump. Pant. Pant. Da-da-dum." Then, the human woman starts yelling, "SAM! Get away from there. Get ovah heah!" She always wants Sam to get away from something or other, even in their square hole of a backyard. What could there be to get away from?
The woman always tells her friends how much she loves dogs. "Oh, yeah, me too," they respond. "I looooooooove them dogs." Then they go inside to eat and watch television, and Sam sits alone outside, her short black coat all gray with dust and her ribs showing through. I've even heard the woman say that Sam hates the backyard neighbor, Buddy the ex-con, because when he was free, Buddy used to hang out with Sam, sometimes engaging in rough games like "role in the dirt" and "I saw the bone first." That was before Buddy got tied up and Sam got fenced in. Buddy was Sam's only friend in those days. Now, she doesn't have anyone. Life's not easy when you have no power.
Well, two years ago, they decided there were too many foreign dogs and related varmints crossing on to their property through our peek-a-boo chain-link fence, so they hammered up a six-foot wooden fence all around them and put the uglier side toward the neighbors—us on the north side and the guy in the big white house on the south side, but he's been in jail for over a year, so he doesn't care. For me, it doesn't matter that the fence is ugly, because dogs will never understand why humans consider some things beautiful and tasteful and other things ugly and tacky. These are definitely cultural biases particular to humans. Dogs think all that worry about stuff is stupid.
What's ugly is that Sam is stuck behind the fence and never gets to go anywhere. It so sucks. When Shane and I sit in the driveway, we can hear Sam running back and forth on the other side as though she's beating her paws against the edge of some fourth dimension that might not even exist, like in the Twilight Zone: "Pant. Pant. Da-da-dum, da-da-dump. Pant. Pant. Da-da-dum." Then, the human woman starts yelling, "SAM! Get away from there. Get ovah heah!" She always wants Sam to get away from something or other, even in their square hole of a backyard. What could there be to get away from?
The woman always tells her friends how much she loves dogs. "Oh, yeah, me too," they respond. "I looooooooove them dogs." Then they go inside to eat and watch television, and Sam sits alone outside, her short black coat all gray with dust and her ribs showing through. I've even heard the woman say that Sam hates the backyard neighbor, Buddy the ex-con, because when he was free, Buddy used to hang out with Sam, sometimes engaging in rough games like "role in the dirt" and "I saw the bone first." That was before Buddy got tied up and Sam got fenced in. Buddy was Sam's only friend in those days. Now, she doesn't have anyone. Life's not easy when you have no power.
Best wishes, Juno
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