Updated: Dec 22, 2022
It involves me, a scared puppy, and something she chewed on (probably).
I’ve written a few times about how much I love my dog. So when I look back on this moment, I feel immense guilt.
Let me set the stage. I was still dealing with undiagnosed bipolar disorder. I was still in a toxic relationship. I was still living in my crappy upstairs apartment where Reese was alone most of the day.
I remember being really angry about what she’d done. This was characteristic of me at the time. Two seconds from a blow-up at any moment, just give me a reason.
I imagine she probably chewed up another cord.
I started yelling, and I went to give her a spanking or a smack on the nose.
She took off running, terrified.
This only fueled my anger.
I took off after her, foaming at the mouth, screaming that I was going to punish her for what she’d done and for running away.
I chased her downstairs, into the closet, where she had no where else to run.
She literally peed herself out of terror.
The look on her little puppy face—
I broke down instantly, crying, holding her, telling her she was a good girl and that I loved her.
I am ashamed of my behavior.
From that moment on, I have never yelled at her, chased her in anger, or done more than a snoot bop.
But I still vividly see her wide, panic-stricken eyes as she squatted.