Day 5: Another Incident

It all started when Micky had an infamous incident. And by incident I mean a panic-attack; full-blown, all-hairs-raised howling session. He was sitting by the living room window and he saw a man across the street. That was it. He saw a man and he barked bloody murder for the whole street to hear.

Here's the thing, when Micky gets mad, I get mad. My husband likes Micky to be free- he feels bad when Micky is gated into the kitchen when we're in other parts of the house. And so Micky wasn't gated this morning, which was why he was sitting by the window, which naturally led to the incident. So Micky is barking, I am yelling at Rich for not doing anything about it and he is yelling at both of us. In the end, Micky ended up back in the kitchen and Rich and I were on separate couches. This scenario happens several times a week.

I know it isn't fair, but I blame my husband for how awful our dog behaves. After all, it was his idea to get a free dog off of Craigslist. He refused to get a shelter dog, because they microchip all the shelter dogs and Rich believes this to be some sort of government conspiracy to control our lives. Personally, I think there are easier ways to wire-tap a nation, than micro chipping all stray dogs and using this to infiltrate personal information. Some arguments I know I can't win. So we got a free puppy off of Craigslist, knowing almost nothing about his history and even less about his temperament. Add to this months of shoddy training (we stopped taking him to training classes when he had barking fits every time another dog got a treat), a personal trainer whose solution was electric shock training, and one kennel owner who swore he was worst dog she'd ever seen. And she specializes in behaviorally challenged dogs.

The biggest issue for me, is that I live with two boys and they know it. They ride in the truck together, trudge through the woods and hang out in the backyard together doing boy things. I can't compete with that, and so I've become the mean girl who tells Micky to lay down, who locks Micky in the kitchen, who yells at Rich for letting Micky swim in the Ocean and then lay on the bed.

I don't hate the dog. I hate what his behavior brings out in me- what I feel stirring up in me when the barking starts. Or worse, when we come home from work and Micky dances around Rich, barely noticing that I'm there. This canine is directly influencing my marriage and I know that if I want these 100 days to count for something, I'm going to have to deal with how I react to these incidents. But like Micky, when he sees a squirrel thirty yards away, I seem to lose all control of my tongue once the chaos starts, and I have no idea how to train myself to stay seated and quiet.