School

In spring, I discovered where the kids spend the day. It always baffled me that the morning was so empty of them. In my evening walks I had seen them in crops, laughing, screaming and jumping on each other, their toys spread like casualties of war in the small gardens in front of the cookie cut houses and the playgrounds. I could hear them whispering at night, forced to stay in bed, talking to their siblings or their stuffed animals in the darkness. But early in the morning, the parents or a mysterious man in a big yellow car shipped them away for the day, bending under the weight of backpacks and books. I imagined that the children were confined, just as I was, while the adults were out hunting or as they call it, working.
One morning, being the sliding door of the kitchen inadvertently open, we managed to escape. After being in the cages, we have become experts at seizing opportunities to get lose and were thirsty for the world we have missed so much in winter.
My mother and I ran the first two blocks and then walked quietly, hiding behind the cherry trees lining the street, to avoid being detained by the neighbors.
We traced the smell of the children to a park we knew very well. We were often taken there to exercise by Jack and Elena. In those days, it was empty except for a few other humans with dogs. But that particular morning it was full of kids, grouped by age or size, pouring from the cars and the yellow bus. They ran fiercely for a while before being herded into a flat building where they spent some time, quietly seated, fixing their tired eyes in books or drawing in papers. That's a very strange human activity. They call it studying and seem to consider it of utmost importance, as if their future and position in life depends on it. The same monotonous exercise continued until a friend of mine spotted us in the playground. He suddenly left his seat, went to the window and pointed in our direction. The woman in front of the class, didn't pay attention, perhaps believing the child was trying to distract the others, but soon, all of them were on that window, jumping at the realization that we were playing and having fun while they were inside toiling with their innate burden of responsibilities. I can say that we almost started a revolution. They were eventually left out for a break and played with us. We took special care in being far away from the grown ups. That morning, my mother also taught me to hunt moles from the ground. After a meal of raw meat we came home just in time and closed the door of the backyard. When my family returned we were sleeping a siesta. The two kids next door told them about our adventure. But when they looked at me, I just stretched my back and walked away with a lazy wag of my tail as saying,
"It's just a fairy tale".