The Dog Blog with Kathryn Socie

An Open Letter of Apology to the Dog

By Kathryn Socie, 9-18-08

	Still happy, despite me.

Dear Weeza,

First, let me say that I recognize my propensity to be an utterly self-involved, totally stupid, jerk of a human being. I need to apologize for these horrid, rather global, human traits and assure you I do try to be different, fighting everyday to be just a little less me and a little more, well, dog-like.  It’s hard.  I do try though.

So, it was one of those days.  A late start filled with too many deadlines, lots of stress, long unnecessary meetings and a stupid amount of rushing around.  I took you out for the briefest of romps in the morning, tossed the ball a few times to take the edge off, threw some food in your bowl and left for the day—you know all of this.  When I got home, I admit, I wasn’t in the best of moods.  Despite your many attempts to say “hello,” with your usual level of sweet happiness, I was exasperated with your efforts interpreting them as a pain rather than positive—you know this too.  After awhile, I did notice the number of times you tried to get my attention.  Yes, I did tell you to go lay down and asked for just five more minutes for, like, 3 hours.  I even looked at you at one point with utter frustration and exclaimed:

“Why are you panting?  It’s not even hot up here! Jeez dog, go do something.”

You did.  You went in perfect silence to the corner of the bathroom, your retreat when you know you’ve done something wrong or when you are taking on my life’s crap.  I knew it too; I knew it wasn’t about you. I knew it wasn’t fair.  For whatever stupid reason I couldn’t pull together enough emotional where-with-all to do the right thing and take a moment to find out what your pleas were about until I finished yet another e-mail.  I couldn’t think about anyone else but me or anything else but mine.

Finally, I loaded you up to head out for a proper hike and in a total tizzy expressed (again and again) my frustration with your incessant panting and whining and attempts to get in the front seat.  You’d think at some point I would cue in to you for just 1 second (nope).

Imagine my horror when you flew across my lap at that moment of my day that was at last about you and I watched you squat in utter gut pain, having total blowout.  You were sick that whole time!

I ignored the 5,000 different ways you tried to tell me, I even got frustrated with you.  Sorry doesn’t even feel like enough. I need to beg you for forgiveness and assure you of my newfound desire to be a better person after this gross example of the worst me-ness ever. 

The amazing thing is you went on your way, wagging as you usually do, celebrating this moment that was ours—diarrhea and all.  You went about life in your perfect dog way, greeting every person (amazingly, not taking anything out on anyone after your mal treatment), every dog, every moment with a purely, wonderfully, never-tainted level of joy.  You even continued to run back to me as if to spread a little of your dog-ness.  It was like you were asking me to take on a little of your life’s goodness, complete with happy eyes, smiling. 

Really, it would have made perfect sense if you held a grudge and maybe bit me, at least once. 

I hardly deserve you.

You’re absolutely the best,

Kathryn

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