Frilly writing aside, this is a true story. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

I go to the park often with my three Italian greyhounds. An exercised dog is an obedient and happy dog. They have such delicate, small feet. Eventually, they toughen up in time, albeit slowly. I walk to the end of my block, cross the heavily trafficked boulevard, and into the park. Sometimes they like the walk, most of the time, they resist once they see the gravel.

'This hurts my feet bro! I would rather run on the grass.'

"I do too, though the grass is beside the road, and that's the surest way for you to get hit by a car."

'I do not care, I want my grass'

I am the master, and I lead him to the park. They play on the gravel, they toughen their feet, and we go home. They forget all about their grievance, and move on with their day. They know not why they are happy, they just assume that's what life is, happy. It's all they've ever known. The fact their bodies flood them with happy drugs because of the signalling of the sunshine, the movement of their muscles, and the toughening of their feet isn't connected, because they are dogs, not scientists.

One day, as I am walking, the clasp on the leash breaks. The dog is Free! I worry now. He speaks so often of wanting to play on the grass, surely a car will hit him, he will die, and it will be all my fault!

I panic, I run to him, want to take him in my arms and protect him from the world. He runs away. Then stops, waits for me to catch up, then continues to run. He runs through the boulevard, has the sense to hit the crosswalk, since I've done it every time we've ever gone out, looking back occasionally to see that I'm still chasing him. It's like a game. It is not a game for me, I have to save him from himself.

*'Does he not know that the grass over here is more fun than that shitty gravel?

Does he not know that there is fun over here? I always am in a good mood over here, and he should let me be, I know what I'm doing.'*

He stops at the door to my house, sits on the stoop, and I open the door out of sheer relief he survived. He walks inside, has the time of his life. About an hour later, he's restless again, and wants to go out. I don't take him out.

"Are you crazy? You tempted fate, and are alive by sheer luck little dog."

'What are you talking about? I know not what you speak of.'

About 9 months later, it happened again.

The clasp broke on this leash, again. About 20 feet from where it happened the first time. This time, I continue onto the park. He continues over to the crosswalk. He hears the sound of the gate open to enter the park. He looks behind him.

'Why isn't he coming? Doesn't he know it's fun over here? I can't handle being alone, it's just not fun without the master. Look at him, laughing with the other two dogs, playing in the park. I should join them!'

He came running after me. I open the gate to the gravel, he walks in, has great fun. His memories of the tough gravel are in his head, his feet are tough now, and he starts humping all the other dogs.

I realized something, that day. He is a Greyhound, he doesn't know what I know, he just knows what any dog knows. I have no chance to catch him, unless he wants to be caught, I thought otherwise because I am not thinking about what I can do, I'm thinking about what I should do, what I would lose, etc. I know now, as soon as he breaks from that leash, his life is under his control, I can't stop it. All I can do is go to the park, have a blast with the other two, and open the gate for him if he wants to join.

And what dog wouldn't join? Everyone is having so much fun, and dogs love nothing more than fun. I get what I want, a safe dog, because I now know how to deal with dogs. They do what they do, I do what I do. Those ideas cross when what I do is awesome enough to keep them at my side.

Don't be a faggot, your sphere of control is very small