Canine Guilt

There is human guilt and there is canine guilt.  Human guilt can take many forms.  Pointing, shrugging, head-shaking.  Audible cues.  My person favorites: sighing and weeping. And just one word can spread guilt quickly and efficiently, which is always the goal.  "Why?" Any sentence that starts with "why?" isn't going to end well.  Start with "why?" and go from there.  I promise "why?" will make the other person feel guilty. Well done, you. I've taught you a lot these past few years. You're welcome.

Canine guilt.  That's a different animal altogether.  Canine guilt is an art form, involving highly-developed senses and intuition. A dog can't say much. He can bark and whine. But he just knows stuff.  He sees luggage by the door. He knows someone is going away. He smells the excitement.  He picks up on the impending betrayal.  He hears snippets of conversation.  This morning, Dusty took one look at me and started circling.  The tail started going.  He was doing some serious detective work.  And then he got it.  I was going away.  "I'll just be gone a few days, Bear-Bear.  You won't even miss me." Another hurt look, a little sad, a little pathetic.  Canine guilt.  There's only one way to deal with it. Treats.  Give treats and more treats and hope at some point you'll be rewarded with forgiveness.  But don't count on it.  Canine guilt never goes away.  Every time you leave the house, you get that same look that says, "When you comin' back?"  You can say "soon" over and over, but the dog doesn't buy it.  And why should he?  He's the master of guilt.  Well done, you.  I've taught you well.  You're welcome.