I was advised by ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dungeonmarm to tell this story, I guess to have proof of what a horrible human being I am.
You see, one of my earliest memories is about my Mom's dog, Damon.
He was a German Shepherd, and Mom had him for years and years. The memory that's stuck in my head forever, though, is one night when I was about three. At that particular point in time, I remember Mom buying me a cheeseburger from McDonalds, and I was in one of those weird phases where I refused to eat most of the sandwich. I decided that I hated everything about it except for the meat patty.
So I was carefully parceling out my meal when DAMON CAME UP TO ME AND SNATCHED MY MEAT PATTY OUT OF MY HAND. DDD:
And I've hated that dog ever since. Yes, I know I'm 30. Yes, I know it's silly to hold a grudge for that long on a badly behaved dog that's been dead for years now. It doesn't matter.
Now. Dad said to me a while ago that he couldn't believe I was still holding a grudge. (And let me tell you, I hold grudges like NOBODY'S business) and he said that he wanted to tell me a story that he hoped would make me feel better.
So he told me about how he once took Damon to a park for some exercise, and didn't put on his leash. And at some point during that walk, Damon saw another dog and went tearing off after him. Dad called his name, trying to get him to heel. Damon looked back, because he knew he was doing a bad thing, but kept running.
And promptly smashed into a tree.
Apparently, it was bad enough that he yelped in pain and misery, and Dad had to carry him home from the park.
And you know? It actually does make me feel better. Knowing that he was a dumbass and smashed into a tree and hurt himself has somehow, strangely, made me less bitter.
My blood feud with Damon is over.
It only took me 27 years. DDD:
dungeonmarm to tell this story, I guess to have proof of what a horrible human being I am.You see, one of my earliest memories is about my Mom's dog, Damon.
He was a German Shepherd, and Mom had him for years and years. The memory that's stuck in my head forever, though, is one night when I was about three. At that particular point in time, I remember Mom buying me a cheeseburger from McDonalds, and I was in one of those weird phases where I refused to eat most of the sandwich. I decided that I hated everything about it except for the meat patty.
So I was carefully parceling out my meal when DAMON CAME UP TO ME AND SNATCHED MY MEAT PATTY OUT OF MY HAND. DDD:
And I've hated that dog ever since. Yes, I know I'm 30. Yes, I know it's silly to hold a grudge for that long on a badly behaved dog that's been dead for years now. It doesn't matter.
Now. Dad said to me a while ago that he couldn't believe I was still holding a grudge. (And let me tell you, I hold grudges like NOBODY'S business) and he said that he wanted to tell me a story that he hoped would make me feel better.
So he told me about how he once took Damon to a park for some exercise, and didn't put on his leash. And at some point during that walk, Damon saw another dog and went tearing off after him. Dad called his name, trying to get him to heel. Damon looked back, because he knew he was doing a bad thing, but kept running.
And promptly smashed into a tree.
Apparently, it was bad enough that he yelped in pain and misery, and Dad had to carry him home from the park.
And you know? It actually does make me feel better. Knowing that he was a dumbass and smashed into a tree and hurt himself has somehow, strangely, made me less bitter.
My blood feud with Damon is over.
It only took me 27 years. DDD: