The Great Escape
The gate opens and with a mad glint in their eyes made all the brighter by summer sun beating down upon them, they dash out, and run like the very devil (and this could be a real possibility) is after them. Run, run, run they communicate in their very muscle and skin. Flabbergasted, on lookers watch, dazed at the speed and whirl of these two comrades. Who dares to leave their confines and especially when the heat seems to whirl from the very ground, dry and parched. And yet, they run.
Darting beneath the depth of shadowy brush and emerging like some wild other worldly creatures, they transform into something from a different time. Their very instinct overwhelms all previous commands and routines. A small furred rabbit dashes away in a panic...the chase is on.
Yards and yards, hedges and lawns, all melt away in a blur of the hunting game. Tongues hang out, heat and warmth and being alive all in a moment of absolute freedom. We are the hunters. You are the hunted. Streaks of tan and white fur fly like fantastic mythical beings. Only the roar of a dragon, coughing dust and dirt, startle and slow their stride.
Finally, all subdued, all rabbits and birds and squirrels hidden and in their place, they begin to trot meekly to their bedeviled guard. Slowly, slowly the realization that it is indeed a hot day and should be limited to the big cave with the cool air bellowing out of it's mouth, they allow themselves to be schlepped back. Humble and mellow and ready to carry their moment of freedom to be relived during a nap and in their doggie dreams.
Darting beneath the depth of shadowy brush and emerging like some wild other worldly creatures, they transform into something from a different time. Their very instinct overwhelms all previous commands and routines. A small furred rabbit dashes away in a panic...the chase is on.
Yards and yards, hedges and lawns, all melt away in a blur of the hunting game. Tongues hang out, heat and warmth and being alive all in a moment of absolute freedom. We are the hunters. You are the hunted. Streaks of tan and white fur fly like fantastic mythical beings. Only the roar of a dragon, coughing dust and dirt, startle and slow their stride.
Finally, all subdued, all rabbits and birds and squirrels hidden and in their place, they begin to trot meekly to their bedeviled guard. Slowly, slowly the realization that it is indeed a hot day and should be limited to the big cave with the cool air bellowing out of it's mouth, they allow themselves to be schlepped back. Humble and mellow and ready to carry their moment of freedom to be relived during a nap and in their doggie dreams.
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