Children

Ola worried at the gate to the dog enclosure for a long time, her gnarled fingers and fading eyesight challenged by the padlock and tiny key. She hung the "CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE" signs on every segment of the fence and tarped each section in black windbreak canvas for privacy. Resting frequently, she set up the obstacle course, threw bones about, tossed soccer balls into the corners (they would be instantly destroyed, but carried around lovingly and fought over until they shredded into the grass). At 4pm, the landscaping company delivered the rolls of sod she ordered and piled them outside at the corner upon her instructions. "We'll replace anything we tear up," Ola whispered to herself, "which will be every square inch of this place." She giggled. Just before moonrise, they came - in their tired and frustrated human forms. "Tonight, you will simply be children - my children," Ola said, locking the gate behind the group (the padlock placed on the inside this time). "You will let all of it go - the stress, the boredom, the hardship. Just run it off." Some whined, starting to protest (such busy lives, so busy busy), but others had begun to eye the rope dolls and extra large Kongs with delight. "And no fighting," Ola said, concentrating to get the words out while her jaw began to reform.