I did something kind of crazy today. It was one of those moments when my nature completely took over my mind. And in the blink of an eye, it was too late. I peed on my mom at the dog park this afternoon. There, I said it. (Even worse, I did it).
This, from the dog who has never (seriously, never) tinkled or pooped in my forever home. I don’t even like when I can’t help it and throw up by the back door on occasion. I know the rules, and don’t make a habit of breaking them. But I did today.
I can’t explain it. One minute I was wrestling with my golden retriever pal Boone, and the next minute he was peeing on my mom’s leg. Like a fire hose. On her surgery leg. The leg that has been to hell and back in the last year and has the scars to prove it. My reaction was instinctual: back up off it, dude! That’s my mom you’re marking! My mom? My MOM!?
That’s when it happened. Up went my leg, and the rest is dog park history. I knew as I was doing it I was in the wrong. I shouldn’t have made matters worse, and yet I couldn’t help myself.
Then I remembered something. It was like a memory coming full circle. It was the day my parents brought me home from the humane society, and we made a stop at Petco (where the pets go) for a crate. Right there in the middle of the store, I lifted my leg and peed on my dad’s leg. I was so excited and overwhelmed and happy and (I didn’t know it yet) in love.
So I did something kind of crazy today. I peed on my mom’s leg. I never do stuff like that. But the more I thought about why I did it, the less guilty I felt about it. It’s the same reason I marked my dad in the Petco that day. They are my people, I love them, and I’ve peed on both of them. I’m over it. I don’t plan on doing it again (unless provoked), but I don’t regret it. Does that make me bad?