boundary runner

boundary runner
© Melina Magdalena 2007

you know the kind of dog I’m talking about
overgrown, full-blown, slightly out-of-control
everyone would like to love her because she is so loveable
but that slightly wild aspect that permeates your every interaction
causes people instinctively to throw up their hands
back away, retreat to higher ground – she’s all too much, so
they keep her on that short leash that defies any possibility of intimacy

she doesn’t need obedience training – good lord no!
she doesn’t need her spirit crushed with harsh words and demands of martial precision
a large portion of her charm lies in her ability
to transcend those social norms, to insinuate herself beyond those walls
and end up with her wet nose pushed into your face,
those liquid eyes that beseech you to become your own best friend
it’s uncanny. she doesn’t push or barge her way in
no one sees quite how she does it
she’s just there! suddenly! where she wasn’t, a moment before
and after no one beckoned her to enter

rare are the moments when she yaps like a terrier
alerting you to the fact that she is well aware of the silly games you’re playing
the patrols you set around your barbed-wire fences who only
begrudgingly permit the passage in either direction of anything at all
no one ever told her this was not the way to do things
and she’s knows it’s not the way to do things

she really doesn’t mean to find herself lurking where she’s not welcomed
chastized, she hangs her head, droops her ears, lets her tail sag into the dirt
banished, she starts that slow creep once again around the edges
sniffing the perimeter, leaving her mark at every sapling like a promise that
she’s still out there waiting for the good times when you will finally let her in

energised, that slow lope picks up momentum – yes, she’s passed this way before
gaining confidence, she’s completely forgotten
how she came to be here in this barren, unfriendly place,
on the outside in the first place … second place …
time immemorial has faded into insignificance
memory is meaningless when possibility hovers enticingly at the horizon line

around and around and around she circles, alert now
to the murmurs, the panic-stricken yelps of alarm, the dull drone of despair
it’s so much more than she can bear
she leaps frantically against the windows and barred doors, she’s scary now
that persistent, rhythmic scratching – let me in, let me in!
because she knows full well that it’s her purpose to be there,
to witness and to soothe
it makes no sense at all when you lock her out
she wants only to love and be loved

it’s not harsh words, obedience training, choker collars, short leashes and rewards
that keep her going – she’s tough, well schooled in hard knocks
she survives this periodic maltreatment, yes
but how she would blossom and thrive on
gentle training, a loving hand and consistent guidance
to teach her how to navigate those places without again
coming to grief or causing that endless offence