Recently I've felt like a fugitive from the 8-5 life.
My neck pain has increased the past few days, so I am reminded that I left that tract for good reason.
Still, I feel like I'm a fugitive from some perdition I should be serving.
The dogs woke me up this morning quite early, seeking passage outside and then some food. Then we all laid back down.
Soon, the phone rang. In the dim light I couldn't make out the caller, but, given the time of day, answered it.
A message informed me that two men had broken out of the Peoria County Jail. One was a particularly bad dude, a rapist and home invader who had taken the police two years to corral. The thought of him on the loose set me on edge. I made sure all the doors were locked.
In the early afternoon, I learned the minor criminal had been apprehended at a residence. Later, in the dark, I had to go outside. I thought of the brazen, desperate rapist. My dogs would put down their lives for me. They would never be fugitives from their duty. I think such dedication and commitment are difficult for humans to understand.
Intellectually, I have given up such dedication. Yet, I still feel like a fugitive. The dogs lack the intellectual ability to abandon their responsibility. Such an act isn't in their nature, which is hard wired for commitment.
The real fugitive in this story, once having decided to flee, has no freedom to choose another course. He is on the run. The dogs can't choose to be different - being by my side is their whole life. The fugitive has chosen his course and can't turn back.