The Leash

“Who's leading who?”, my son chimed, directing my gaze across the street.

There, a dog traversed the sidewalk, tugging and pulling the leash.

Repeatedly, he attempted to dash into the street, danger unheeded.

The owner simply followed, vaguely aware of any wayward tugs. Occasionally, she would look up and heed the danger, pulling the dog away.

But mostly she followed the one needing to be led.

I considered the hound, tugging and yanking, demanding his own way.

Aren't I the beast? Hounding and dashing?

Contending against my Master?

I insist on freedom, danger unbeknownst to me.

Freedom is found on the end of a leash.

My Master leading, guiding, protecting.

Why is it so hard to submit? To admit?

I need a leash.

Until I learn to follow at my Master's heels, oblivious to all else.

Unlike that particular dog owner, the One who owns me, is astutely aware.

And leads me.

Protecting.