Bear and the Chain-linked Fence

‍ Ipava Avenue, a busy thoroughfare with canopied ash trees and well-traveled walking paths, cuts through bustling suburban neighborhoods where well-kept homes with fenced-in manicured lawns line both sides of the street. The steady hum of passing cars and the occasional chatter of neighbors give the avenue a lively energy, reflecting the care and pride of those who lived there.

 Sturdy wooden fences, tall and unwavering, encircle each yard—shutting out prying eyes and muffling the outside world.   Solid fences surround, except not here.  Here stood a lone four-foot stretch of chain link fence.  A four-foot oasis, a paradise, where sunshine spilled through, and brought the crisp, delicious scents and sights of spring.

This was exactly where Bear, the gentle giant, a grand Great Pyrenes made his morning throne. With his large, white fluffy belly splayed out like a welcome mat and his nose twitching at every new breeze, Bear basked in the pool of warmth the morning sun brought. He’d close his eyes, feeling the gentle rays soak deep into his fur, occasionally flopping onto his back to catch an extra sunbeam on his chest.

Neighbors laughed and waved as they passed, and Bear would thump his tail in answer, never once leaving his perfect spot. In that little sun-drenched gap, it didn’t matter that the rest of the world was fenced off; for Bear, spring had found a way in, and that was more than enough.