A walk on the wild side

For the teenager who lives on a farm, sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night is an exercise in futility.

That’s probably why I tried it. Growing up, I was pretty good at futility.

Case in point — if I snuck out, where would I go? Starting a vehicle in the wee hours of the morning would wake everyone on the place, severely limiting my carousing options. But causing trouble wasn’t my goal. I was mainly curious to see if I could escape the house undetected.

So I picked a night and lay awake until everything was quiet. I slid from under the covers, collected my shoes and tiptoed to the front door, opening it just wide enough to squeeze through sideways. I was free.

Our blue heeler met me at the gate, wriggling all over, excited that someone had come out in the middle of the night to see him. I petted his ears and warned him to keep quiet. He obliged and waited while I put on my shoes. Then we set off across the yard.

The stars seemed brighter than usual, as they do on midnight adventures. I felt older, satisfied to be alone with my thoughts, outside in the great wide world where no one expected me to be.

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