The Free Spirit
The new house they had provided me was better than the earlier ones. There was a skylight. I was surrounded by vegetation. The last house had made me feel like the prisoner I really was. They thought feeding me and clothing me would make me happy.
They didn’t realize the meaning of what it was like to roam as a free spirit. I was happily roaming the streets when they had arrested me and brought me to this god-forsaken place. Suddenly I felt hungry. Time to ask for food. I stepped out of the kennel door and barked. ‘Woof, Woof’.
Written in response to the picture prompt given by Ronda Del Boccio for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Please find other entries here.