Another day, another patrol of the backyard perimeter. The sun is warm on my cords, but my mind is… elsewhere. Lately, I’ve been dreaming of a place I’ve never been. A place without fences.
I dream of the beach.
I imagine vast, open territory where the only thing to guard is the horizon. The air would smell of wild, untamed salt and thrilling, strange creatures. I see myself running, not on grass, but on miles of soft, yielding sand that would lift in great puffs around my heavy cords.
There would be water. Not the still, confined water of my yard bowl, but an endless, roaring, moving beast of it. I would stand at its edge, letting the cool foam rush over my paws and twist through the very ends of my dreadlocks. I’d bark at the retreating waves, establishing my presence with this new, watery entity.
Of course, the logistics are… problematic. The sand. My glorious, protective cords are masters at collecting every burr and twig from here to the forest; I can only imagine what an entire beach would gift me. A permanent, gritty souvenir. And the saltwater bath afterward? The horror. The indignity of the hose and the blow-dryer for what would feel like days.
But still, I dream. I dream of napping under the shade of a strange, tall tree, lulled by a rhythmic sound I’ve never heard. I dream of a new, fascinating world where my only duty is to be amazed.
Then I hear the back door slide open. My human calls my name, holding my familiar leash for our walk on the familiar street. The beach can wait. My kingdom, for now, is right here.