The Fall

Gypsy was a furry, wheat-colored collie, who lived and played on a ranch – several hundred acres of hills and woods, full of good things like rabbit trails and streams. She loved it there. At the ranch house she was given a comfortable bed and good meals. Her Master, who owned the ranch, made no unreasonable demands on her. She knew that her job was to love her Master and to be faithful to him and to obey other commands – to follow, to come, to lie down. And she also knew that she wasn’t supposed to chase the chickens and the rabbits. Actually these were easy for Gypsy, because it was in her nature to obey and to love her master.

But one day when Gypsy was prowling on a hill far away past the spring house and pasture, two things happened at once: the Master called her and a rabbit dashed across the hill. Gypsy turned and raced towards the Master, as she had always done. Then she stopped. It entered her mind that she didn’t have to obey. Perhaps the Master didn’t understand about that rabbit. Anyway, these were her hills. The rabbit was hers, too. Very likely it was all lies – that story of everything, including herself, belonging to the Master. How did she know that the food in her dish came from him? Probably there was some natural explanation. She was a free dog and that was the end of it. These thoughts went through her mind swiftly while she stood irresolute. Again came the Master’s command; the rabbit crossed the hilltop. Gypsy whirled and raced after the rabbit. She had made a choice. She was free to choose.

Hours later she came home. She saw the Master waiting for her, but she did not rush gladly to him, leaping and frisking as she had always done. Something new came into her demeanor: guilt. She crept up to him like a snake on her belly. Undoubtedly she was penitent at the moment. But she had a new knowledge – the knowledge of the possibility of sin – and it was a thrill in her heart and a salt taste in her mouth. Nevertheless she was very obedient the next day and the day after that. Eventually, though, there was another rabbit, and she didn’t even hesitate.

The Master still loved her, but he trusted her no longer. He put Gypsy in a pen and took her for walks with a rope around her neck. All her real freedom was gone. But the Master gave her from time to time, new chances to obey of her own free will. Had she chosen to obey, she would have once again had perfect freedom to roam her hundreds of acres. But she did not. She always chose, if she were out of reach, to run away. The Master, knowing that hunger would eventually bring her back, let her run. He could have stopped her. A rifle shot would have ended her rebellion once and for all. But she was allowed to live. Perhaps she would someday choose the way of obedience and true freedom.

One day, during a journey by car, Gypsy and her young daughter Flurry were taken to the edge of the woods. Always before, Gypsy had limited her disobedience to the ranch. But now, coming back to the car, she suddenly felt the old thrill. She turned and ran away. The Master called with a note of sharp urgency. Flurry, in her innocence, came at once. But Gypsy, her ears dulled to the voice of the Master, continued her rush into the dark forest. After hours of searching and calling, the Master sadly abandoned the lost dog and with Flurry beside him, went home.

Flurry continued to live in freedom, always being obedient to the Master who loved her and took good care of her. She was happy to be in his service and she loved the look on his face when she did something that pleased him. She obeyed gladly of her own free choice.

But lost Gypsy, as long as she still lived, wandered the woods and roads as an outcast. She had lost her way home. She became dirty and matted with foxtails and thorns. Stones were often thrown at her and she was always hungry. She had more puppies who, like her, were lost and inclined to disobedience – as were their puppies for generations to come. The kind and benevolent hand of the Master was unknown to them, except as a tale.

But this is the way Gypsy chose, and continued to choose, until finally there was no more choosing left to do.