My first mistake was scratching at the itch.

My second was doing it in front of the Mistress.

Now don't get me wrong, it's not like I have to avoid scratching all together, but this particular itch was so intense that I scratched a bit too hard and a bit too long.

When she ordered the boy to fetch the delousing solution, I knew I had gone too far.

I like the Mistress, and the boy too, but her obsession with cleanliness is enough to drive any house slave crazy. I do my best to keep the floors clean, especially after dinner, but it never seems to be enough. I sometimes wonder why she keeps me on at all.

In only took the boy a few moments to find the delousing solution and he smiled at me ruefully as he passed. He didn't like the procedure either, but his feelings on the matter were nothing compared to my own.

I hate delousing. Everything about the process makes me cringe. The solution is a hideous concoction that burns the skin and causes the eyes to tear. And the odor! The scent is so powerful that I can't smell properly for hours afterwards.

You would think that was bad enough. Oh no, not for the Mistress. To add insult to injury, the whole painful process was performed outside, in full view of passersby, so as to prevent the stench of the stuff from sullying the sanctity of her home. She never seemed to care that I had to live with the awful smell - sometimes for days after the procedure.

Such was my fate as house slave. I was forever ordered about according to the Mistress' whim, enduring the woman's wrath and rarely reaping rewards for diligently attending to my duties. The boy would sometimes slip me something meant for him - he was certainly held in higher esteem than I was - but such favors were few and far between When the Mistress caught him he was severely punished, so such items were a rare commodity.

I watched from the window as the boy dragged the large wooden wash tub out into the middle of the estate's back lawn. It was a large area, fenced and hedged, but not so high as to permit privacy. Soon anyone taking the back trails would be able to witness my humiliation as I was thoughtlessly scrubbed in the same tub used to wash dirt from the vegetables. Why couldn't I just use the wash tub in the house?

The boy started filling the tub and panic set in. My gut began to churn. I could smell the solution as the bottle was opened, could feel its burning on my skin. I shuddered and began to think of escape.

Escape.

I had tried escape several times in the past, all without success. The Mistress had caught me every time and my punishment had been harsh. For all the angry words she threw my way, it seemed she intended to keep me around - probably so she would have someone on whom to take out her frustrations. Well, not this time. This time I was going to get away. This time I was going to make it.

But how? I wasn't allowed in the forward parts of the house, the areas where the Mistress spent the majority of her time and where she entertained her guests. She would likely be there now, hovering about, waiting for me to make just such an attempt.

No, if I was going to do this it would have to be out the back way. Problem was, I couldn't leap the fence. I'd tried before to no avail. The only way out would be the gate. That was kept locked and I had no key....

I stared out the window at the back fence. The gate was open. I don't mean unlocked, I mean open.

I couldn't believe my eyes. There, across the expanse of the back lawn, next to the shed where the gardener kept his tools, the gate was open. It swung to and fro lazily with the breeze.

Hope welled within me.

The gate was open!

I took no further time for thought. It wasn't necessary. I had dreamed of this occurrence so often that the plan was burned into my brain.

I descended the stairs to the ground floor as quickly and quietly as I could. The plush carpeting made it easy to pad along without too much noise, but the pounding in my chest was so loud I was certain that Mistress would hear me.

I made the bottom of the stairs without incident and paused to listen. My hearing is pretty good, but darned if I couldn't hear a thing except the rushing of blood in my ears. I turned to my nose. The Mistress had worn especially strong perfume that day. If I couldn't hear her, at least I should be able to smell her.

Nothing. That meant the coast was clear, or so I hoped as I darted from the stairs to the kitchen.

I was in luck. The kitchen was empty.

I hurried to the kitchen door and pushed open the screen. The rusty hinges squeaked appallingly and I froze, certain I would be discovered.

When no one came running, I slipped though the doorway and onto the back porch, inserting a foot between the door and the jam to prevent the creaky thing from slamming shut.

Having accomplished my exit from the house I took a moment to survey my course that ran across the back lawn to my unexpected portal to freedom. The yard was mostly open space, but there was ample cover from the back door to the gate if I planned my way correctly. I was pretty sure I had. Baring any unforeseen circumstances I would be unseen from the house.

I left the porch, hugging the wall of the house as I made my way east towards the roses. The Mistress loved roses and kept a short, well-trimmed hedge next to the walkway that led to the arbor. I darted across the five feet that separated the corner of the house from the roses, then sunk down on my haunches and waited.

After a short moment in which I determined that no one had seen me, I crawled over the manicured grass on my belly until I reached the end of the hedge. It was slow going, and my stomach got dirty, but I reached the spot without discovery. The boy was still filling the accursed tub, but apparently he hadn't seen me.

Slowly, I peered out around the last bush and risked a glance at the house. I half-expected to see the Mistress flying from the back door, calling out to the boy to latch the gate before I got away, but the house remained quiet.

I watched the boy carefully, and when his back was turned I slipped from behind the roses and maneuvered around the far side of the arbor. I was now hidden from both the house and the boy. I hadn't realized how tense I was until I caught myself panting. I took a short moment to catch my breath then moved onto the next phase of my plan.

The garden lay before me. Neat rows of peas, tomatoes and corn grew eagerly in the rich soil, bordered about by marigolds in full bloom. If I had tried this last month, it wouldn't have worked, but the plants had grown sufficiently in recent weeks to provide me with excellent cover almost the entire way to the gate.

I gulped one final breath then made my move. I dashed from behind the arbor, leaped over the marigold border and slid between two rows of corn just higher than my head. I made my way carefully amongst the stalks. The plants were almost too close together here and I brushed one occasionally as I headed down row. I feared the movement of the stalks would give me away, but the wind picked up at that moment, and the entire patch of corn swayed nicely.

I reached the far side of the garden and paused again. Still I heard no sounds of discovery. Phase three of my plan was complete. Only one phase remained.

I stared out from my concealment at the open gate. It stood there not twenty yards from my current position, moving dangerously in the breeze. Please don't let it close, I thought. Please don't let it latch.

As if in response to my need, the wind died, leaving the gate amply ajar.

I breathed a sigh of relief. This was it. One final step. One twenty-yard dash to freedom. Twenty yards of open space, true, but that hardly mattered now. I was far enough along that even should I be discovered, neither the Mistress nor the boy could possibly make it to the gate in time to stop me.

With utter confidence, I sprang from the garden and raced to the gate.

Fifteen yards...ten yards...five. I was going to make it. I was free!

I caught a movement from the corner of my eye as I leapt toward the open door and a hand fastened firmly on the collar around my neck. I hit the ground, amazed, astounded and utterly heartbroken. There above me stood the Mistress, my collar in one hand, a brush in the other.

It hit me then where my plan had failed. The Mistress had been in the gardener's shed the entire time!

"You naughty, naughty dog!" She scolded as she shut and locked the gate. I cowered appropriately and whimpered a bit in an attempt to look contrite and lessen her anger.

It didn't work.

She scooped me off the ground by the scruff of my neck and held me out at arms' length, giving me the once over.

"Not only do you have fleas," she said in her most disapproving tone, "you've gone and rolled in the dirt."

I looked at her with puppy dog eyes, but she didn't seem to notice. She marched me over to the tub where the boy waited, delousing solution in hand.

"I'll never understand what possessed me to let you get this mangy creature," the Mistress said as she handed me over. "It's more trouble than it's worth. You'll have to bathe it first, it's been playing in the dirt again."

The boy took me without comment, but gave me a scratch behind the ears to show he understood. The Mistress often ordered him to bathe, too.

"When you're done with that, make sure you cover him well and good with that flea repellant. I won't have pests in my house!"

She stalked away and the boy and I sighed together. He apologized and I submitted meekly to my bath, all the while my head spinning with ideas.

The next time the gate was open, I'd make it for sure.