Sometimes I get really angry at my mom. Like when I want a treat, but Mom won’t give me one. Or when I want my breakfast or dinner Now! and she says I have to wait. Or, when I want to play ball and she won’t play with me. Or, when my leash jumps out of her hand and she won’t take it back. Or, when she won’t let go of my leash and I want to carry it. Or when she pets Lily Cat more than me.
Mom knows when I get angry. I bark and bark and bark. I bark when I’m happy too. Or excited. Mom says it’s a different bark when I’m angry. She’s right.
When I give her my angry bark, Mom puts her finger to her mouth and tries to shush me. I tell her I’m mad at her. She asks why. I tell her why.
Like when I want a treat and she won’t give me one. She says treats are for special times. I tell her I’m a good girl. I deserve a treat. She shakes her head and looks at me “You’re not being a good girl right now,” she says. I stop barking my angry bark. She pats me on the head. “Now you’re being a good girl,” she says. Then she walks away. Without giving me a treat. And now I can’t be angry again. It makes me too tired.
Anger does that. Makes me tired. Guess I should think about that. If getting angry makes me tired, why would I ever want to get angry? Especially since getting angry doesn’t get me what I want anyway. Like a treat. Or to hear I’m a good girl.