Dog.
Last winter, a snowstorm blew into my town and submerged us all.
No-one was able to leave their house, but my dog - as dogs will - needed to be walked outdoors. So I cleared a path through the snow, a single, shovel-wide loop around the backyard. It took all day; by the time I had finished, I barely had the strength to leash my dog and take her out to make use of my handiwork. But, of course, I did.
Although she is not a small dog, the snow towered over her. Nevertheless, she pulled me through the narrow pathway with at least as much vigor as she had on days when the yard was clear. The entire time we were out, me tucked away in as many layers as I could manage to squeeze into, all I could think was how envious I was of her. She didn’t care that she had no option but to follow the trail I had dug out for her. She gave no thought to how little room she had to maneuver in this predetermined passage of hers. She trotted happily between her walls of snow, perfectly content to obediently go where the trail dictated. After we emerged, she gladly went back to perform the exact same circuit a second, third, fourth time. I couldn’t imagine how any creature could calmly walk their way through a set course without the mildest amount of frustration, without once feeling as though she would go insane from the lack of freedom she was allowed. She was happy in her myopia, and I was jealous.
But, more than anything, I was jealous of her inability to apply metaphorical significance to everything she encountered.
Just thought I'd share my self-deprecating angstings with y'all.
No-one was able to leave their house, but my dog - as dogs will - needed to be walked outdoors. So I cleared a path through the snow, a single, shovel-wide loop around the backyard. It took all day; by the time I had finished, I barely had the strength to leash my dog and take her out to make use of my handiwork. But, of course, I did.
Although she is not a small dog, the snow towered over her. Nevertheless, she pulled me through the narrow pathway with at least as much vigor as she had on days when the yard was clear. The entire time we were out, me tucked away in as many layers as I could manage to squeeze into, all I could think was how envious I was of her. She didn’t care that she had no option but to follow the trail I had dug out for her. She gave no thought to how little room she had to maneuver in this predetermined passage of hers. She trotted happily between her walls of snow, perfectly content to obediently go where the trail dictated. After we emerged, she gladly went back to perform the exact same circuit a second, third, fourth time. I couldn’t imagine how any creature could calmly walk their way through a set course without the mildest amount of frustration, without once feeling as though she would go insane from the lack of freedom she was allowed. She was happy in her myopia, and I was jealous.
But, more than anything, I was jealous of her inability to apply metaphorical significance to everything she encountered.
Just thought I'd share my self-deprecating angstings with y'all.