Babies. Dogs. Cute, eh? But you know, as cute as they are, I feel bad for them. I mean, think about being an infant, just learning to crawl. Away you go, off to see your contained world, when “Whoop!” in comes mommy, or daddy, or some pesky adult grasping you by your belly and setting you back down in the location from which you drug yourself so far. If you’re really unlucky, you get placed back in the playpen. Four damned meshed walls trapping you in, separating you from that all enticing living room floor and maybe even your favorite shiny toy.
Or, imagine you’re a dog. Out you go, bounding happily into the world, chasing birds, bugs, and dutifully covering the scents of your foes, when “Yank!” your forgotten collar jerks closed around your neck and you’re stopped dead in your tracks, barely able to breathe. Back you go, inside the house, to pace around in circles until it’s time to go out again.
These poor creatures…allowed for just a moment to see what’s out there, before being swooped up and placed back in containment. Itching to be free, they amuse themselves with what's before them, all the time looking toward the door.
Or, imagine you’re a dog. Out you go, bounding happily into the world, chasing birds, bugs, and dutifully covering the scents of your foes, when “Yank!” your forgotten collar jerks closed around your neck and you’re stopped dead in your tracks, barely able to breathe. Back you go, inside the house, to pace around in circles until it’s time to go out again.
These poor creatures…allowed for just a moment to see what’s out there, before being swooped up and placed back in containment. Itching to be free, they amuse themselves with what's before them, all the time looking toward the door.
I can tell you are feeling the trapped frustration again. Just remember, the baby may have been headed for the stairs and the puppy to the busy street. Their loved one picked them up for their own protection.
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