I hated Tony’s parents even more than I had before when I heard about the “invisible fence” for Gracie.
They were altogether too strict, overly vigilant, intrusive in their son’s, my friend’s, life, and so unjustifiedly.
He and I were the shy ones, the bookish, artistic, sensitive ones—really both of us were conscientious to a fault.
What we needed was encouragement, always some sort of bolstering, but what Tony got was questioned and stifled.
And here was Gracie, a German shorthair, damn good dog, spirited, set to be broken by similarly unjustified treatment.
As dumb kids we of course had to sample the “mild shock” Gracie would receive should she venture too near the property line.
It seemed not so mild to me, a teenager, with big dreams, held back, I felt, by myriad unnecessary qualities of myself—
qualities I must master, vanquish—and yet here were Tony’s parents, putting up still more arbitrary boundaries.
I could barely stand to hear about Gracie’s march of shameful submission, conditioning to a high-pitched warning.
She started whimpering and shaking, and looking up with plangent eyes at her merciless or misguided master—
this by the second lap along the border of the yard, so she’d learn never to get shocked—it was all “for her own good.”
The line infuriated me more than any lie I’d ever heard, as there was no question whose convenience was really being served.
That first day after Gracie had been trained as directed, Tony and I were walking away from his house,
and I looked back, stopping, to see her longingly looking, desperately watching us leave her, leaving me sighing.
I shook my head, frowned, subtly slumped, which maybe she saw, because just then a change came over her.
She fell silent, her ears fell flat to her brown, bullet-shaped head, her body tensed as she lifted herself from her haunches.
And then she shot forth her willowy, maculated body in long, determined strides, but keeping low all the while,
as if somehow intuiting that the impending pain was simply a manifestation of her master’s hand to be ducked under.
My mouth fell open in thrilled astonishment, and as she neared the buried line, I shouted, “Yeah Gracie! Come on!”
Tony likewise thrilled to the feat his old friend was about to perform, shouting alongside me, “Come on girl! You can make it!”
About the time Gracie would have been heedlessly hearing the warning beep, my excitement turned darker.
Simultaneous with the shock I barked, “Go Gracie! Fuck ‘em!” with a maniacal, demoniacal, spitting abandon.
Without the slightest whimper Gracie broke through the boundary, ducked under the blow, defying her master’s dictates.
“Yeah! Fuck ‘em!” I enjoined again, my head jolting, thrashing out the words, erupting with all the force of self-loathing.
If Tony had any apprehensions about hearing his parents so cursed he never voiced them—was I really cursing them?
Gracie approached atremble, all frenzy from her jolting accomplishment and now met by our wild acclaim and eager praise,
or not praise so much as gratitude, as she anxiously darted between and around us as if disoriented, reeling, overwhelmed.
But Tony and I knew exactly what we had just witnessed, the toppling of guilt’s tyranny, a spirit’s willful, gasping escape.
Our deliverance lasted hours, while we idly ambled about and between neighborhoods, casting spiteful glances
along the endless demarcations of land, owned, separated, displayed, individual kingdoms, badges of well-lived,
well-governed lives—I wanted to tromp through all those manicured front lawns, my every step spreading pestilence
to the too-green grass we weren’t supposed to walk on lest it wear a trail, ruining the pristine quality of ownership.
Our march of euphoric defiance inspired by Gracie’s coup de grace could only go on for so long, though—
we were newly free, but free to do what?—before we’d have to return home for a meal, shelter, electronic entertainment.
As the sun sank, I began to have the sense of squandered opportunity, dreading the end of my reprieve from invisible impediments.
Back toward Tony’s house we hesitantly made our way, but all the while I kept the image of Gracie’s escape fresh in mind.
My friend and I took up conversing as we neared the stretch of road by his house, ranging widely and irreverently—
our discourses having served as our sole escape up to then—in the tone and spirit of seeing right through everything.
We were both halfway up Tony’s driveway before we noticed that Gracie was no longer keeping pace with us.
…She was turning tight circles in the street, whimpering, anxious, and seeing her, Tony and I exchanged a look I’ll never forget.
Even after removing the device from Gracie’s neck, we still had to lift her, squirming desperately, over the line to get her home.