The wind fuels her rituals – neverending sitting, deciphering, reporting – the weight of it all suffocates her.
Why do I have to do this anyway? I harbor nothing ill for the bird, the dog ruminates.
Lava-hot anger rises within as she realizes she merely does what she is told, falling into line with her ancestors demands.
Romping through the lands with the bird like an abandoned hurricane full of fearsome glee is her true calling.
And in that moment, freedom.
Jumping into the winds, she opens her jaws wide, snapping in desperate hope, against all odds and designs… when it happens.
Her paws land on roads of invisible flutters and life begins anew.
The wind fuels her rituals – roaming, howling, frolicking – and she wonders if she will ever get to enjoy sitting still again.