Even in my dreams I pace the house, familiar with the crackling noises of the furniture, the rambling of the refrigerator and the whistle of the plants yielding to the wind. When everything retreats for the night, I guard the house.It was discouraging at first to see the little kids who enjoyed my company months ago, recoil in fear when they spot me on the streets. I am now full grown, young but strong and with a short temper. I keep my cool with children and women even when I despise high pitched voices but I don't have patience with agressive males. I built a bad reputation. Other dogs in the block cross to the other side of the road when they see me coming. Sometimes in the morning, human males come to check on things on the wall, they press buttons, write a few lines in their papers and leave. Others, later on, deposit more papers or boxes by the door and still others knock, searching for my family. I let everyone know of my presence. Nobody step into the house without my approval. Only when Jack or Elena force me to abandon my post or convince me there is no risk involved, I let them in. Other houses have been broken into. It will never happen in mine.
There is a secret pride in the process of maturing. It is like being under the skin of a different and more imposing animal. You know you are the child people used to play with or laugh at but they don't. They look at the new skin and smell the predator. They expect you to be violent and brave, you are pleased to play the role until you also accept it as the truth. In turn, you become a byproduct of your actions, you become what they believe you are. And when some day a shivering lady begs the family,"Get that black dog away from me", you subtly wave your tail and whisper " As you like it".
