Setting the (dog) Pen Free

In other words, Clearing Debris to Find Your Opportunities

The 1900 House we moved to in February 2024 came with land – and some hidden assets. Before you think we found rubies buried beneath the live oak tree (which we haven’t…yet) I’m talking about the large, chain-link dog pen. It was so overgrown we didn’t notice it previously. Mostly due to keeping my word, but also because of the joy I knew it would bring, I had looked forward to setting the dog pen free.

You see, we’d promised our daughter a dog – one day – when we got a different house and bigger yard. Of course, when we made that promise to our probably-going-to-be-a-vet-or-at-least-maintain-a-wildlife-preserve child it seemed like a long way away. You know: s.o.m.e.d.a.y. Well, “someday” arrived complete with an existing dog pen. Our child is most likely kin to an elephant: she had not forgotten the promise.

I would also like to say, 2024 did not start out easily. Beside the move itself, there have been other quadrants of my life with hardships. While I’d like to think I’ve met them head on, they still hurt and I can feel my soul more barricaded in. I don’t know if for preservation, for security, or for solace, but my normal, cheery outlook had withered.

Setting the (dog) Pen Free

Saturday morning arrived. Armed with a wheel barrow and my new clippers, I sized up the job ahead of me. Massive greenery, three to five times as tall as me, loomed overhead. Branches and vines intertwined everywhere. Thorny prickers surprised me and in not a good way. The dog pen gate hung off one hinge so it only opened half way. I thought of snakes, and ticks, and stood there a minute more assessing the task at hand. I began with what I had faith for. That may sound odd, but we can’t do what we can’t envision.

When things look overwhelming, start with what you can see to do. Don’t worry about the end goal. Take the first step.

I opened and closed my clippers to see how wide they could go, then looked again at the dense limbs and trunks. Beginning with dangling vines near my face, I put the offenders between the twin blades and snipped. The first branch fell. I found another about the same size and cut. It dropped on the ground beside the first. Gathering courage, I continued on until enough was cleared so I could step through the narrow entry.

Pain in the Process

Inside what looked like a rain forest, old leaves rotted below my garden shoes. A dilapidated doghouse crumbled in one corner. Trees braiding themselves together for years mocked me. My trusty clippers cut away, one open and close at a time. Several thick trunks gave me trouble. I braced one side of the clipper under my shoe, and pulled hard with two hands to cut them down. The canopy branches were so entangled that often the trunks didn’t fall even though they weren’t connected at the ground anymore. I’d yank until something broke loose and throw it out the doorway.

I tugged a stubborn vine but it held tight. I jerked harder. Searing pain struck me solidly in the face. A branch about one inch thick hit me above my top lip, below my nose. My tongue tasted blood. An ice pack later, nothing was broken but I felt stupid. If you’re pulling and it doesn’t give way, stop. Wisdom trumps blind force.

Then the Sunlight

Not surprisingly, my daughter noticed it first. “Mom, you can see sunlight peeking in. Look! You broke through the top.”

What used to be dark brambles gave way to blue sky. Sunlight toppled in over dry leaves beneath me. I paused to appreciate our efforts as the wind dried sweat across my face. There was a significant clearing all the way to the gate with plenty of space for a canine to romp. All the clipping away at vines and sapling trunks and dragging them out through the narrow gate for my eager “assistant” to haul away, made my writer mind churn. I felt less blocked, more satisfied. Setting the dog pen free sprouted hope in my soul for better things ahead and strength to look at the difficulties behind. Dog to follow.