Our expanse of property, 13 acres in total, feels much bigger sometimes than others. It is largely due to mood and frame of mind, but sometimes it is physical change. After mowing, when I can visually track the explorations of the dogs everywhere they go, the fields seem smaller.
There are scents galore out there. Clara is the most avid tracker, Guster likes to set off the alarm with his baying cry, Kate only joins in when something really intense happens - but I have never been able to detect what it is. She hovers by my side, stick at the ready, 98% of the time. But once in a while there is a moment when she suddenly whips her head around and bolts after the other two dogs, in hot pursuit of...whatever.
When they hit the boundary lines they veer off in two directions, gazing longingly into the woods where they can't go. It is the most humane and freeing innovation, this electronic boundary fence. After two weeks of early training, all it takes is the little beeping reminder to keep them safe from cars, getting lost, aggravating humans, and many other mishaps.
But -- I feel sorry for them too. They want to bound with abandon through the woods, following their noses for long distances according to their nature.
I get feeling the same way myself. Even within this beautiful stretch of land, sometimes I feel bound into a confined space. My world feels like a tiny bubble within which I circle around in my daily routines. I pace the boundaries in my mind and feel the urge to run off, knowing that I really can't.
Sometimes that's life. It will pass.