The Freedom of Strays


 



The Freedom of Strays


The news came in with the morning whistle —
humans have decided,
we are to be collected,
catalogued, and contained.

“No more wandering,” said the man with the stick.
“Shelter life from now — good food, safe walls.”

We looked at each other —
the way only dogs can look,
half amusement, half pity.

Raja, the self-appointed philosopher, snorted,
“So, after centuries of sniffing liberty,
we’re now to live in neat enclosures—
fed on time, bored on schedule.”

Tommy wagged. “But food! Think of it —
one bowl a day, maybe two.
No chasing dustbins, no begging at weddings.
We could finally rest.”

Sweety tilted her head,
“Rest? You mean retirement before old age?
Freedom exchanged for a full stomach?”

Blackie growled softly,
“They call it protection.
I call it polite imprisonment.”

A young pup barked,
“But isn’t it good to be cared for?”
Raja chuckled,
“Kid, that’s how it begins —
first they feed you,
then they fence you,
and soon, you’ll forget
how it feels to bite a stranger’s ankle
just because you could.”

The pack burst out laughing,
tails thumping the dust.

Tommy stretched in the sun.
“Well, the humans will sleep better now.
No barks at night, no street romance,
no democracy of dustbins.”

Sweety laughed, “They’ll call it peace —
but only because silence is easier to manage.”

From the far end, an old hound spoke,
“I’ve seen both worlds —
the leash and the road.
One feeds your belly,
the other feeds your soul.”

And for a moment, even the young ones
stopped scratching, stopped joking.
A truck passed by, marked ‘Shelter Vehicle’,
and they watched it with an uneasy awe.

“Maybe,” said Raja at last,
“we’ll go in one day —
when our legs are too tired to run,
when adventure no longer smells sweet.

But not today.”

He stood, shook the dust from his fur,
and the pack followed, tails high,
toward the open road.

Behind them, a man was calling —
“Come, dogs! Food!”

They paused — just for a second.
Even freedom can hesitate
when hunger barks.

Then Raja grinned,
“That’s how they’ll get us —
not with chains,
but with kindness served in a bowl.”

And off they ran,
laughing, barking, alive —
unregistered, unclaimed, unrepentant.

Comments

  1. AnonymousNovember 8, 2025 at 1:19 PM

    Excellent!! It is also philosophical while being satirical!!

    ReplyDelete

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