How it is that I'm blogging, under covers and next to a sleeping husband to the sound of a snoring pug comes down to one terrible word:guilt. It haunts me.
I mentioned in a prior post that I dropped my pug the other evening while trying to carry both him and a baby. I was in pain and exasperated-and frankly upset that I'd been yelled at, but what I didn't mention were the pained yelps and the accusing look from my dog when he landed.
I can say it was him or the baby; I can say I could no longer carry them both. But the fall hurt my dog in some fashion and I think he is holding it against me.
My pug has been know to hold it for 12 hrs - he does not, as a rule, ever poop in the house. That night however, he left seemingly strategic surprises for me in both my daughter's room and the kitchen. While he seems to be walking fine and has been given extra treats and trips outside, he still does not seem the same. Even while I'm petting him I get the sense I'm either being given the cold shoulder, or that my pug is sad. And I am miserable thinking about it.
A dog is just a dog and a cat just a cat, but when I feel guilt it is the pure and unriddled Catholic kind that burns like hellfire and overtakes your dreams. It's gonna be another long night:while the pug is snoring away I am pretty sure I will not until I am absolutely sure the pooch is ok and that he's forgiven me...and then maybe I will be able to forgive myself.
1 year ago