No doubt you are familiar with Buck in Jack London's masterpiece 'Call of the Wild'. I suppose you would have to live under a rock not to be or be a charter member of the FanStory CEC. After all, they are the ones who abandoned me to the manipulative wiles of this wilderness. Threw me out like yesterday's discarded news, they did. However, this is not that story. This is my story.

I have the good fortune to reside in a unique rural setting known as the Llano Escarpment in West Texas. The area is one of the largest mesas on the North American continent. A three-hundred-foot tall cliff lies to the east, while the Pecos River Valley can be found to the west. In between, the wild remains extremely porous.

I encountered that cliff one carefree day chasing my dinner, when I almost fell over the side of the dangerous hazard. You would think the lesson learned the hard way would teach me to be more cautious. Nope. Not in this lifetime.

Open space, and personal freedom. These are two treasures I enjoy. Pretty much, I come and go as I please. I do not need any physical doors to the outside world. What I crave is a partnership with someone willing to loosen my leash, so to speak, in all aspects of life. Better yet, remove leashes altogether, allow me to follow my nose, and run free with me.

Powerful, and an indefatigable swimmer even in the coldest water, I suddenly appear a black blur with an elongated snout and floppy Lab ears, the result of selective breeding. I roam out in broad daylight. Panting from my morning jog, I allow my front paws to tap the fertile ground in a sort of Happy Dance. A mixed-wood forest lays behind me. Beyond that, the Brazos River slowly moves. Spring melt has not quite swollen its banks.

Famished, I discover a campsite. No humans visible in the immediate vicinity, I decide a good exploration is in order. It doesn't take long for me to realize a variety of fast-food wrappers smeared with the scent of onion rings, French fries, and burritos litter the ground. However, there are no solid leftovers for a starving pooch to feast on. I recall my last meal, a furry cottontail who was much slower than I am, nourished me two days ago.

Off in the distance, I observe pitched tents. Inside a trove of sleeping bags and backpacks. Unlike humans, who rely primarily on visuals for identification, I do not possess this quality. My only important sense-keys are the olfactory signatures of my highly sensitive schnoz.

These assure me there are five distinct dual-legged threats to my wellbeing. My biggest concern being the two of the male variety. The two of the younger set, and a female who accompanies them, not so much. Still, I decide this is not a safe haven for a quick forty wink siesta.