Hello dog.
They say, dog, that you don’t know what you have done wrong when my screaming and yelling commences. They say that if you’ve done it hours ago, you just don’t know.
But sometimes I think you do.
I go to the pet store, dog, and buy you things to chew on that are more expensive than you’d think. Bones that say you’ll “chew for hours” and toys that claim you’ll be “occupied all day.”
Why is it then, dog, that you chewed on the bed? Why must you put everything in your mouth?
Do you know that I’ve had a rough day, dog? Do you understand why I’m upset?
Do you know what crying is? Do you understand that I am overreacting, but need to be comforted, dog?
Sometimes I think you do. Sometimes when you put your head on my knee, I think you do.
But then you are wagging your tail and want to go for a walk, dog. You pick up your leash excitedly, but human emotion is not so simple.
Do you know, dog, that when you poop I pick it up with a plastic bag so we will be looked on with favor by all the neighbors? Sometimes it gets on my hands. I’ve picked ticks from your ears, dog. I’ve paid money for people to teach me to teach you how to sit and stay. I take you to the park, dog. Sometimes I forgo a social event to see you run and leap because it makes me happy to see you happy.
The bed is not for your mouth, dog. It’s not good for your teeth.
When I am angry you know more immediately than I do, and I can’t resist you laying on your back, eyes squinted, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry,” you seem to say and I want to let you put your head on my knee and then we’ll be friends again.
It happens every time, dog. You prove to me that you didn’t mean it.
And I always take you back.
Do you know what forgiveness is, dog? You cannot even comprehend how many times I have forgiven you.
On the other hand, you have never even been mad at me.