Invisible Fences by Kathy Shay

As many of you know, I have a Yorkshire terrier named Hattie. She’s the sweetest little thing, except when she gets out of the yard. Then she runs, faster, harder and more exuberantly than I believed possible. (This is a canine who sits on our laps when we watch TV and has to be touching one of us as she sleeps on our bed.) So I was surprised, and a bit hurt, that she’d take off so easily away from me.

After a close call on a busy street blocks away from our house, we finally put in an invisible fence. This entails a barrier around the perimeter of our very large yard, as well as an electric collar around her neck. She bounced out of the house as soon as the fence guy had it installed, ready to play with him. However, she got zapped as she went for the road and yelped loud and long. The second time she tried to escape, she started to shiver. The third and final time she was jolted that day, she tried to crawl up my legs. For the next two days she wouldn’t go into the yard without being forced. She’d whimper and yank at the leash I was supposed to keep her on. It was awful. Finally, my kids took her off the leash and played ball with her outside. Alas, she was a whole new dog, running as fast as she wanted, but staying well within the flags placed around the yard. We had a whole new life together and I’ve played with her for the past three weeks like this.


Then today, she went after a ball that passed through the barrier—and she did, too. Of course she ran. I managed to chase her down at the house next door. But she bolted away, back into our yard, back through the barrier and raced into the house. I was devastated. The fence was working but it didn't keep her safe, after all. No more days outside for us. When I calmed down, I decided we had to up the barrier voltage and maybe put some of the flags back in around the yard. I’ll call the fence company tomorrow.


I was originally going to put up a post and use invisible fences as an allegory, along the lines of “What invisible fences do we put up for ourselves, or do others erect for us?” I was going to relate it to writing, and propose that writers limit their creativity by fencing themselves in to a certain type of story. I was even going to brag, maybe, that I’d broken my own invisible fences in writing THE PERFECT FAMILY.

After today, I’m not so sure invisible fences aren’t a good for us. I’m wondering if, like Hattie, we ruin things when we do away with parameters we've set for ourselves. Given my liberal leanings, this idea doesn’t set well, but as my doggy sleeps next to me while I write this, (her body touching my leg, of course), it’s a new thought I’m pondering.

What do you think?

Kathy