Leashes

I was walking with my dog in the woods the other day. Perhaps I should say walking against her since she has never learned the discipline of obedience. She strained against the leash until her breath rasped, tail flailing metronomically, desperate to make the aquaintance of some woodland creatures. I was sorry that I could not trust her to return when I called and could not let her go where she wanted.

The area that we were enjoying together, during the odd moments when she was not trying to rip my arm from my shoulder while simultaneously strangling herself, is a local farm that is now a nature preserve. Dotted throughout this area are strange monuments, ornately decorated, pyramidical spires.They look like wayposts on some fantastic web of ley lines.

My dog is inordinately interested in the bases of these spires. I keep looking for the vestiges of ancient sacrifices, as does she. But while I search for the blood of the victims of pagan rituals, I believe she merely senses thinner body fluids of her canine predecessors.These odd constructs are actually spires that once adorned the roof of a demolished library at Harvard University.

After an exhausting journey of cross-purposes we rested at the base of one of these spires, she panting and drooling, I meditatively drawing doodles in the dirt with a stick, when we heard a voice in the distance. As it grew louder, I wondered at the oddity of sitting in the midst of nature while overhearing a madwoman rant about the stock market.

It was no surprise that, as the source of the voice appeared, she held a retractible cord leash attached to the collar of a well-behaved dog in one hand. In the other hand she held her own collar with a retractible cellular leash. I nodded and smiled as she passed. I am sorry to say I received a glare in return.

Perhaps I over-analyze, I have often been accused of this sin, but it seemed as if both my unruly, but friendly dog and my inoffensive, silent acknowledgement of her presence threatened to increase the carefully balanced tension of her leashes.

As I continued my stroll and my dog continued her suicidal lunges toward the depths of the woods, I imagined that the unsocial passer-by was also a waypost of ley lines. She was a node with lines of force pulling at her from all directions but whose stability was threatened by any uncontrollable external event such as a smile or an undisciplined dog.

We are all leashed. The forces of family, society, work and money pull at us from every direction. That is what life is all about. It is as if we hold the loops of innumerable leashes, each with its own dog and each dog with its own squirrel in view. We wear collars too.

As the dog and I walked in our own tug-of-war through the woods, I was thankful that I had the capacity, or perhaps the freedom to reduce my battles to a single one, if only briefly. I can find a simplicity that lets me enjoy the quiet woods, the gurgle of the brooks, the soft compression of the mass of pine needles underfoot ... The respite of a single leash.