And man? Free of one kind of fetter,
He runs to gaudier shackles and brands;
Deserving, for all his groans, no better
Than he demands.
—Louis Untermeyer “He Goads Himself”
Every time I’m back in my adopted home of South Carolina, visiting relatives, I run the same route in the mornings before the day gets too hot and humid. I run up Santee Road, and then down the gently winding Camelia Circle. I jog past the stately magnolias and the moss-draped pine trees. The well-cared for lawns are mostly free of weeds, sprinklers are misting and hissing here and there, and the passing cars all offer me a friendly wave. By the time I reach the end of Santee Road, I must look quite the sight, not to mention how loudly I must be breathing or what I must smell like to the dogs in the yards of the houses nearby.
There’s a pair of dogs of indeterminate breed, small spotted squirrel chasers who seem to always pick me up on the canine radar as I round a curve on Camelia. I hear their insistent yapping begin to peak as I come near their domain, and as I reach the corner of their yard, they are shooting straight at me, as if fired from a cannon. My cadence and my steps are unaltered by the impending attack though, I have done this run many times. These mixed terriers and I understand the fixed distance between us will not be crossed even though nothing visibly keeps us apart.
There is an invisible fence, a wire, buried along the perimeter of this yard. The dogs each wear a collar that, should they encroach or cross the hidden wiring, will cause the collar to administer an unpleasant electric shock to their necks. My run takes me on the road past their lawn, and they follow me every frenzied inch of the way—never for a moment crossing the spot where the wire waits to administer its stealthy charge. We both trust the power of that divide as if it were concrete reinforced chain link.
This method of training has been understood from the time Pavlov had his own canines drooling at the sound of a bell. I’m confident we could disable the collars and remove the wire in the yard, and my Camelia Circle dogs would still pull up short at the edge of their lawn—such is the power of conditioning. Even empty space can have the capability of a science fiction force field with the right kinds of punishments and rewards.
I am perhaps over-mindful of invisible fences after several weeks of graduation ceremonies and hours upon hours of family gatherings. I look at my sons and my wife and most of all myself and see the shock collars and the self-imposed boundaries. I feel a tingling as we all get near long-buried wires and then vector away, laughing, poking fun; teasing the way families do at reunions. Higher education frees the mind and at the same time, adds other engaging barriers. We have a Lawyer now, and a College Professor matched up with a Special Education Teacher, newly minted Anthropologist, and a Peace Corps volunteer. The little administered shocks at the dinner table when a debate gets going amongst these capable young men causes me to nurse my glass of wine and smile.
They have years yet. Years before they learn that the collars they put on in their youth (ones I most certainly helped them buckle firmly into place) aren’t connected to anything real. At some point, they will realize the wires their professors, partners, administrators, bosses, and brothers buried can be turned off, and they have the switch. They’ll learn soon enough that if they keep running, past and over the invisible walls, all yards are theirs.