Dear DiaryAugust 29th, 2003I look out the living room window across a vista awash in concrete. The nighttime sky is clear and a landscape mottled with lights, both blinking and steady, fills my view. This is the fifth floor of a high-rise and I can see the river from here. Its watery surface is marked with gleaming reflections from rows of streetlights and anonymous houses. I sometimes see other dogs in the street below. They roam wild, picking at the rejected scraps of human detritus. Meanwhile, I sit here pampered with my leather collar, my stainless steel water bowl and my plate of Kibbles N Bits. Am I imprisoned by my luxury? Or would I prefer to wander the streets free but fearing every shadow? Master takes me for walks, scratches my neck, and likes to play throw-away-the-stick (I am forever bringing it back to him and he loves to throw it away). But as much as he is Master, is he also my jailer? Cat is let outside at night and comes back in the morning. He tells me of the things he sees. Brawls in the alleyway, screams of terror in the dark. It frightens me. But he also tells me of wonders I can scarcely believe. Pyramids of light, huge fields of open grass, fire hydrant after fire hydrant. No, I must be honest with myself. I would not trade this life of indolence and contemplation for the supposed freedom and romantic notions of La Vie Boheme. Perhaps in my youth I would be enticed by the lofty dreams of self-determination but only due to a willingness to turn a blind eye to the nasty, brutish and short street life that comes of it. Diary, I must confess to loving my Master and the beautiful prison he has built for me. Rover
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Written by vinny9
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