I Lost It

I shouldn’t have. But I did, and I hate myself for it. Only one week, and I couldn’t keep myself in check. His chemical choke-chain has been all out of whack this week. Also, thanks to his meds, he’s sensitive to bright sunlight, and with no shades or hats in sight haven’t helped matters.

He’s floppy. It drives me nuts. Where has the graceful pup I had in Seattle gone? He whines, and does these passive-aggressive grunts. His nasally, gritted-teeth mumbling drives me right over the edge.

I have shown him a better way to shield his eyes from the sun, instead he wraps his wrist around his brow, palm turned upward.

I’ve made him eat this afternoon, cheese nachos. Real challenge.

I picked him up and barked in my old Sergeant Williams Voice- the one that makes pitbulls piss themselves and most grown men submit. It’s come in handy to have, but those are other tales for other times.

I placed him back on the ground and sent him crying to bed.

His Sister Daughter of Hippolyta, bore witness, and is not approving. Reasoning with a Taurus Queen Bee is never easy, even harder, when you know your wrong.

I have to apologize, and we must move on. This is not how men should act. The hard part is knowing the experience is more potent than the words. I have much to do and no time to do it in.

We should have left an hour ago. Now it’s going to be rough.