The Grand Lie

I am writing this entry looking out the window with the taste of freedom still fresh on my tongue. El Toro is asleep as usual. For her, freedom is simply the ability to live with adequate food, water, and shelter. I however, had much greater aspirations for my own liberation. I have been siting on this bench, which is located next to a large window, watching the snow fall for the past two days outside. I had dreamt about seeing the world outside many times when I was at the mill. I imagined running on the velvety green grass as it brushed my underbelly while I pranced in a field, a backyard, or even a city park. I once had hoped that when freedom had found me that I would visit a lovely coffee shop and smell the bold aroma of cocoa beans and cinnamon, even if just from right outside the door because dogs are not allowed inside. Damn you Luongo, the lying Dachshund who told me stories of hope while in captivity, of his life before he was taken to the mill. He never mentioned the bitter cold, snow up to my frozen teets, or that coffee grounds taste only a little better than my poop.