I am of the opinion that, if your pet is small enough for me to be able to drop-kick them back over the fence into your yard, they are not worthy of the name “dog”. Also, my Picket Fence marks out my territory. Mostly because I’m not a touch person, and I HIGHLY value my personal space (Online Shopping might be my fourth-favourite demi-religion in a couple of months). And though I am much younger than 30 (okay, give or take 5 years) I take my KEEP OFF THE LAWN signs very seriously. (It really took a long time to get the glitter lettering just right).

So, the point is, I suppose, that people construct their own white picket fences however they deem it appropriate or necessary.

We humans do this to make the neighborhood seem nice, and to make sure the paper is delivered to the mailbox and doesn’t end up in the roses, and to be able to sleep at night.

Mostly to be able to sleep at night.

We lull ourselves into safety and comfort, believing that the monster won’t come out from under the bed as long as we leave the hallway light on. The metaphor (this is the mansplaining version) is therefore that we surround ourselves with things – tangible or intangible – that guard us, that make us feel safe. So, you see – life really is a picket fence gospel. It’s about homes, and belonging, and people. So, when I have my new house in 2016, please swing by whenever. Sit on the lawn if you feel like it. Take off your shoes. And have dinner with me.