I love my dog.  I have a blog about my dog.  His face is on my Christmas card.  I am unconditionally committed to his health and his happiness.  That said, there are days, when he frustrates me to my core.  Days when I don’t enjoy him being underfoot, or showing me exuberance when I’m trying to relax.  Days when he does things that he knows he absolutely should not do.  Days when I must reprimand him.  Days when I have to give him ‘the look’ over, and over and over.

These days are few and far between, for the most part Melvin is a sweet boy and his good days outweigh the bad ones 50 to one.  But on those ‘one’ days, after I’ve let frustration speak my words and dirty looks have run amuck, I am always overcome with complete and weighty guilt. Each and every time.  I try to think back on all the occasions my parents reprimanded me, told me to go to my room, left me to wallow in what I’d done.  I’d survived.  But Melvin looks up at me as if he doesn’t know why I’m mad.  And then I convince myself that perhaps he doesn’t know, even though he’s just done the shameful act right in front of me.  Or did he?  There it is again, that look where he tilts his head and seems to say ‘huh?’.

Today is one of those days.  And yes, I just apologized to him for him being a bad dog.