Uncloaked escapade: Stealing away for a winter run

My version of the perp walk.

'Twas I you glimpsed dashing through the snow this week, galloping across the MathWorks field near Lilja school and romping around the College Road neighborhood. You might also have glimpsed frantic Dad trying to catch me. Or maybe spotted my sister in your backyard as she patiently waited for a chance to snatch away my freedom.

Here's what happened: Dad and I were walking along the ridge above the field, when a stick caught in the clasp of my leash, instantly freeing me from that dreadful thing. Reader, I escaped. The word goes back to medieval Latin, uncape-ing, or uncloaking oneself, as it were.

After about an hour, during which I sped about, zigging, zagging, sniffing, and otherwise carrying on, I realized I indeed was uncloaked, cold and hungry. I trotted up on someone's deck, looking for sustenance and, perhaps, shelter. Little did I know my sister had outsmarted me—hard to do, I know—and my freedom was over. Really, though, I was ready to go home. My escapade—it comes from the same root as escape but sounds a lot more fun—was over.

 By the way, if you live on Rolling Lane in Natick and you're missing a suet feeder, it's a few doors down.