A Barking Place

If dogs could think like some of us do, they’d figure out that the posts in the grass on either side of me are there to let them know where dog territory ends. The small painted posts are the markers that form the boundary to separate two areas; behind me is the place where people may roam and in front of me is the one where dogs may roam. A sort of boundary, not unlike the ones I have seen on the bicycle trip my friends have taken me on from Zeeland, in the Netherlands into Belgian Flanders. Those were of stone, and larger. These are made of wood. Those tell us of a great aspiration – to do, as I understand it, with doing away with borders. These apparently exist here to serve as a border. Those stand several meters apart from each other with no fencing in between them. These stand three meters away from each other with no fencing in between them. Those have a number and a letter of the alphabet. These have a little engraving of a dog on them. Those you can miss and it doesn’t matter because the suggestion is that they are there but they are not there. No bad barriers. These you can miss because the suggestion is that dogs should be able to understand they are there. No bad feelings.

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A Barking Place

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