Freedom was outside the window - clouds lazily blew by in the breeze; traffic buzzed by on the highway, and generally, life continued at its usual lightning pace - except for those of us inside the window.

I spent a fair amount of time this morning looking out the window and wishing I was anywhere else when I started studying the building next door - the county animal shelter. In the yard, a golden retriever ran around playing ball with one of the employees. It looked like fun. It looked like a lot of fun.

Then I started thinking.

That dog lives at the shelter - he isn't an inmate - he lives there. The workers adopted him, and while he has a good life, I started wondering if he felt as if he's sold out his fellow dogs. Does he relish being a narc?

"Psst. Master -- word has it that the Doberman and the Terrier are tunneling under the wall tonight at midnight. Be ready!" Then he runs off the play with the dogs and continue collaborating with the pound workers.

Does he get better food? Does he get privleges? Or does he merely get to live?

I guess we all have our price. Thirteen years ago, I projected that I would be working as a diplomat, writing a novel or preparing my latest column for the New York Times; however, I was burned out on college, writing and journalism, and the newspaper industry is a tough business to break into, especially if you want money fast.

Overall, I'm happy with my life. I have a decent, unglamourous and somewhat frustrating job, I own a house and I have the best friends and family a person could ever want.

Still, today I wondered how that alternate universe me was doing.