Frickin’ dogs.
I usually love dogs. I’ve waxed poetic about being a dog owner a whole lot on this website, but I don’t feel like a DAP (Dog Appreciation Post) tonight. Taken care of by some friends and by my sister, our dogs had a confusing weekend. Then we got back and they acted a fool, at least Archie did. Chased after a deer and disappeared for a while on our morning walk, tried jumping onto Roby to get out of the car when we stopped at a gas station, whined and complained enough to wake the dead, then refused to fetch the ball to get his energy out. Just all around bad dog biz. And it made me pretty angry. 

A dog can’t really help it. 
They’re not manipulative creatures, they do what they do because it’s what they do. Any misbehavior is the fault of the owner, so to get angry at the dog’s just unreasonable. You’re the one who’s caused this and you’re punishing an innocent creature for your own shortcomings. It’s unfair and it’s childish and it’s cruel and gross and you ought to feel bad. 

I ought to feel bad for being frustrated with the dogs, I forced them into the car which they never do anymore, I got a breed I knew was bad with prey drive. 

I feel bad for getting upset,
I’ve felt bad for getting upset in the past. 

I think the trick is to hate that in yourself every time without being overwhelmed with guilt.

It’s good to think of the good shepard.