Brinkmanship

There is a cracked line at the end of our driveway that separates two zones: Safe and Unsafe. Nya, of course, is not allowed to venture onto the road with out one of us. For a time, she would bolt straight for the boundary once outside. Over the previous year, we have blocked, grabbed, verbally lasso, and even sent Sheep-dog Ty to wrangle her away from the demarcation line.

One afternoon while Kate was gone and Ty was occupied in the garage, Nya made a dash for the outskirt of the Safe Zone. I elected to say nothing and position myself on top of mound in the front yard. With no cars coming, I was free to let things play out.

She came to a dead stop on the brink of her permitted limits. Her toes tickling trouble. She looked down at the line for a long time. Then looked left for a minute, then to the right another, and then finally back to the imaginary edge.

Remarkable, she turned and walked over to me. She reached for my hand and said “come daddy”. Together, we walked on to the road.