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Once there was a man who lived happily in a little house in the village.

He was so happy that there was only one thing that kept him from declaring his life to be perfect. He wanted a little more privacy.

So one day, he sold his little house in the village and moved into a cottage on the edge of a large farm, many miles from the main road and far from everyone else.

He loved it there. The cottage had a small garden, the view of the river and the hills was exquisite and filled his soul.

There was only one more thing that kept him from declaring his life to be perfect. The farmer next door had two large dogs.

Because the cottage had been empty for a long time before he came, the dogs forgot that it was not theirs, and they roamed the grounds as if it belonged to them. Dogs take their job seriously, and these two were no exception. They even growled at the man when he went out to his garden. He thought he should speak to the farmer about the dogs, but he hadn't even met him yet. The dogs were big and growled and the hair on their backs stood up when he went near the farm. It took several weeks and a great deal of yelling and arm-waving convince the dogs that the land by the cottage was not theirs, but at last they understood and left the man alone.

But even after the dogs left, there was one more thing that kept him from declaring his life to be perfect. The dogs barked.

They barked when the farmer left the farm and when the farmer returned home. They barked when the cows went out and when the cows came back. They barked when the sun came up and when the sun went down. They barked when the moon rose and when the moon set. When one barked, the other would bark. And so, they barked all through the day.

He tried not to listen as he dug in the garden or put in a fencepost or fixed the bird-box. He tried not to listen as he painted the shutters and picked flowers for the blue vase on the table by the window.

When he went to town and saw his former friends, he complained bitterly about the barking dogs, and his friends clucked sympathetically.

"You need to get away," they told him. "Why not take some long walks so you won't hear them?"

"Good idea," thought the man, and when he returned to his cottage, he took his walking stick and his floppy hat and set out the back gate following an old dirt track past the stone walls into the woods.

The woods were lovely, deep and cool. The birds flitted from branch to branch, and a soft breeze brought the light scent of hot pine trees down from the top of the hill into the forest. Soon he found himself going deeper and deeper into the woods. When he found a small stream, he took off his shoes and sat and cooled his feet. Then he took off his hat, lay back and listened. All was quiet.

"Ah," he thought. "Life is perfect." And he fell asleep.

When he awoke, he had a little trouble at first remembering where he was. The sun had gone down and darkness was creeping into the woods. It was much cooler and a little mist was rising making it hard to see. He rose to his feet, took his walking stick and his floppy hat, and turned to go home.

But he could not see the path.

"I think it's this way," he guessed. And he began walking.

An hour later, it was truly dark. His walking slowed and he could not see more than a few trees ahead. The mist was thick, deadening any sounds. All he could hear was the crunch of the pine needles under his feet.

He tried to go downhill, but it became too steep, and the branches were thick and pulled at him. Finally, he began to think about spending the night in the woods.

"I really don't want to do that," he thought. "It's far too cold, but what can I do?" He tried not to imagine the worst. "This is not good," he concluded, "not good at all." And he shook his head and sighed.

And then he had a thought. "How embarrassing..." he mumbled to himself, and even though he was alone, he first looked left and right and then behind him to make sure no one would see him. It was a ridiculous thing to do, because he was utterly alone and miles from anyone, but that is how we are sometimes. And then he lifted his chin up high and opened his mouth and howled, long and loud. And then he froze and listened. Silence, silence, and then suddenly he heard the sound he wanted so very much to hear.

Behind him, and not so terribly far away, he could hear dogs barking.

He turned around, and he slowly made his way toward them in the night mist, feeling his way from tree to tree in the darkest places. Whenever they stopped barking, he would lift his head and howl into the night sky. And the dogs would begin to bark again. And in this way, the man found his way home.

And when, later on, he met the farmer on in the lane, the very first thing he said was "I've been meaning to tell you how much I like those two dogs of yours." And the farmer smiled and told the man all about each one, talking for a very long time, because people everywhere like to talk about their animals.

A story based on The Hermit, Reversed< (Reading: "Too much or too little Hermit energy."/font>