They say it’s a world without fences. Our neighbor’s dog doesn’t think so.

Cocoa sits at the edge of her property, watching the street. Gate closed or open, she doesn’t cross the line. She knows her boundaries, does Cocoa. Oh, she’ll come out if you ask her to. Pat your thighs and you’ll hear the clack-clack of her overgrown nails on the pavement. But if you don’t tell her to come out, she won’t.

I am like Cocoa. I stop where the line is drawn. Where I think the line is drawn. And I built my fences really, really close in a long time ago. My boundary is about an inch from my front door. I don’t even answer the telephone. My instinct is to hide when the doorbell rings.

But I’m working on it.

I wrote a book, which I was sure I’d never show to anyone. And then I showed it to some people. It found a publisher. The book, which is largely about fences, both real and symbolic, found a European publisher: Holland House Books. My book, Sunflower, is due out this summer.

I guess the world is without fences, after all.