By Ray Lincoln, Emma Lincoln
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Additional resources for Caged Love: Suburban Dogs and the Crate Training Conspiracy
Although I love dogs, it’s hard not to take an instinctive step back just to regain my own bearings. And it’s hard not to want to escape outside to recharge on the power of life lived in freedom, where one can judge the time of day from the position of sun in sky. I blink as the animal in the cage again goes crazy. He spins in tight circles, causing his small cage to rock on itself, and we notice loose feces squeeze out onto a towel folded under the cage, apparently anticipating this mess. After a bit more rattling, the animal gives a frenzied yelp, even more shrill and pained than the other cries.
Come on,” my partner says as he reaches toward the window, ready to crank the blind closed again. ” I touch his shoulder to stop him, while I quickly glance around and down and then back up at the ceiling. ” “It doesn’t look like it,” he says. Right now, this side of the building is completely shaded and even with the early hour and sun just rising, we are already sweating and finding it hard to breathe in here. I calculate the sun’s movement for later in the day and I imagine that this tiny room with no ventilation will start to bake in a few more hours.
The puppy gives another sudden scream, which feels like a knife cutting through me. The paw is slick with feces and blood and the puppy’s thin hot drool; the scream frightens me and I lose my tenuous grip, failing him as his sounds settle back to whimpers and he squints shut those imploring big brown eyes. “Oh, screw,” I let slip in frustration. Deeper in the structure, I suddenly hear, unmistakably, the frenzied barking of more dogs- multiple small dogs, it sounds like. I know my partner must hear it, too.
Caged Love: Suburban Dogs and the Crate Training Conspiracy by Ray Lincoln, Emma Lincoln