Sweet Freedom by River Song

They put every obstacle before me.  They pushed me beyond my limits.  But they could not contain me.

After more than two years of being illegally detained when my parents left the house, I have gained my freedom.

I give them credit for trying.  They duct taped my cage together.  They put weights on the top of the crate after I broke through it by pushing off my back legs and opening the door with my hard head.  They put me in between a wall and a bureau after I escaped from the side door.  They used bungee cords to attach my crate to Pocket’s so I could not force the door open.  While I never figured out how to escape from this trap, my attempts scared Pocket and gave her diarrhea, so we were placed in separate rooms.

Once I was no longer attached to Pocket’s crate I studied the clasps on the front of mine.  As soon as my parents left I used my paws to turn the clasp from the inside, then I pushed the bar holding the clasp, pressed against the door and walked out of the crate.  

My parents countered by using four bungee cords, two across the front crate door, two going from the top to the bottom, to keep me inside.  When I was left alone, I unclasped the latches on the front of the crate then pushed the door with my big giant head.  I opened the door wide enough for a coral snake to squeeze through.  Then I maneuvered my enter Griffon body through that small space and was free at last.

When my parents returned home and found me in my familiar spot by the kitchen window, they were stunned.   They inspected the crate, pulled on the door, still held by the bungee cords and saw the small space I had used to escape.   They turned their inspecting efforts to the house

Everything was in place.  I hadn’t disturbed a single table top, ruffled a blanket, or chewed on a leg.  I had lain next to the door praying my parents would soon return.

My parents sat me down.  They told me that they were more concerned with me getting hurt escaping the crate than about me being loose.   They agreed to leave me out of my crate.  I shook their hand with my paw.  We had a deal.  

I have been a good girl since then.  I sit and wait by the door for them to come home.  I don’t taunt Pocket, who is still in her crate a comfortable there.

I promise I won’t mess this up.  I am doing it for dogs who yearn to be free everywhere.

I worked too hard to get out of prison to get caught breaking my parole.