Free to Flea

 

The cocker spaniel wanted to roll around on her back, feet in the air, squirming and itching.  The grass felt good.  It was cool and the morning air was crisp and fresh, compared to the stuffy old house.

The lady at the opposite end of the leash wasn’t interested in how good the lawn felt, her mission was to walk the dog and then get on with her day.  Annoyed at the spectacle of Daisy squirming about caused her to give the leash a sturdy yank.

The sudden and unexpected snap of the old leather leash sent a wave of freedom through Daisy and panic up the arm of the lady.  Things were now different.  In that little jerk of the leash, Daisy’s world became enormous.  Up on her feet, she shook, as if she had just had a bath.  There was no familiar restriction from being tethered to the old lady.  She had freedom.  Free to run, free to sniff anything and everything for as long as she wanted. 

The old woman leaned forward and grabbed at the harness, but Daisy had other ideas and quickly scooted out of reach.  The annoyed old lady snarled her command that Daisy return to her side, but that was the farthest thing from Daisy’s plan as she kept trotting up the road, along and through flower beds, brushing against trash cans and occasionally shaking to see if that pesky harness would fall off, but it didn’t. 

Walking back towards her home, but without her dog at the end of the leash the old woman was suddenly startled as the quiet police car rolled up along side of her.  The patrolman driving the car rolled down his window and asked the woman what she was doing in the neighborhood.  Still annoyed at her dog and now insulted that this person viewed her as a stranger in her own neighborhood, she growled, sending him a threatening look and said, “Leave me alone.  I’m in no mood.” 

All too quickly she found herself sitting in the back seat of the police car, her hands uncomfortably clasped behind her.  Still verbally abusing the officer as they drove to the station. 

“Why would I carry ID with me just to walk my dog?”

“So where is the dog?”

“She got away.”

There was no response from the officer, he just kept driving, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror at the woman who had been walking an imaginary dog.

At the police station she stood, still grumbling, as her fingers were rolled across the inkpad then pressed onto the cardboard, forming a print in the appropriate square.

“I want a lawyer.” She snapped.

As she sat on the edge of the creepy-looking bed in the cell, she thought about Daisy, out enjoying her freedom.  Heading in whatever direction her nose took her, without a care in the world.  Then she glanced down at the bed she was sitting on and wondered if there were bed bugs, or fleas.