Getting Mad at My Dog

Some days I’m quick to throw a fit. It’s too hot, or I lose my keys, or my favorite team loses a game or whatever the fuck happens and it just puts me in a mood. Then I’ll go and walk Morpheus.

Morpheus, being a dog, will be full of pure joy and excitement, appreciation for the smells and sights of the world. He wants to know what’s going on in every bush, he wants to chase every squirrel, meet every other dog, so sometimes he pulls on his leash a little bit or gets more excited than I deem acceptable and I lash out an yell at him. You know what that makes me? An idiot.

Morph is a dog! What’s the point of getting mad at him? By the time I’m done chastising him he’s already forgotten his mistake, so I’m just left in a worse mood than I was in before. Nothing makes me feel dumber than when I get mad at my dog. Getting mad at all tends to make me feel silly. What’s the use? Maybe if I can figure out a way to let it motivate me then the time isn’t wasted, but in most cases, getting mad is a silly way to spend time. I’m trying to get better. Trying to breathe more. Meditate. Appreciate the world around me like Morpheus does. It’s not so bad, ya know? I’m blessed to be fortunate enough to be able to pursue a creative passion every day of my life. What more could I ask for? Let today mark the day I try to stop getting mad at my dog.

-J.P.