While Asbjørn is in most respects a perfect dog, one thing I’ve never been able to instill in him is the importance of sticking around when he’s off-leash. Once past puppy-hood he took every available opportunity to run free, returning home only when he was good and ready. Down at Olof’s parents’ house he’ll usually stay close, after ten minutes or so of running through the adjacent woods, but I expect that’s mostly due to the tasty treats he knows are often to be had at Farmor’s.

Strangely, that has all changed in the past couple of weeks. After the big snowfall of last month, Olof carved an intricate snow path into our yard and surrounded it with a snow fence. His intention was to allow Yrsa to play more freely outside, but I quickly saw additional applications. Finally, I thought, Asbjørn could run and play with the kids and the other dogs and not have to watch from the sidelines, tethered to a tree.

In the beginning — the very beginning — he thought it was pretty okay, too, scampering and frolicking happily within the new confines of the yard. For about fifteen minutes. Then he came and sat by my side and refused to budge. After repeated attempts to coax him to take another lap or two of the yard, I relented and allowed him to go back to the house. Since that day, I’ve taken him outside off-leash at least two dozen times, and every time he hurries out, does his business, and runs back to the porch. If I try to talk him into coming out to the yard, he just eyes me suspiciously and inches closer to the front door.

The only conclusion I can draw from this is that being given permission to run is just not as sweet as the forbidden fruit of illicit freedom. Wonder how it’ll go down when the snow is gone.