You ask for assistance. The answer sometimes comes in the form of canine diarrhea.
When we moved into the new house, we brought my father along with us because it was the right thing to do. My father feeds my dog, but he’s also been told every time we take a trip to the vet that Sookie can’t eat any human food because it will wreck her guts. Because she’s a pure bred, she has this… princess gut that kills gut fauna if she eats any people -type food.
Today, after a sleepless night, Sookie jumps up onto my bed. Her butt is covered with diarrhea. When my Dad walks into the house, I ask if he’s been feeding her again.
“Just a little chicken.”
What that actually means is yes, and I’m not going to tell you actually how much I’ve been feeding her, because you’ll get really angry if you know the truth.
Long and the short, I threw my Dad out. I gave him until February 12 to find somewhere else to live. I felt horrible, I felt angry, I felt frustrated. This is not how Franciscans are supposed to behave right? We’re supposed to be gentle, and kind, and loving, and have a long fuse, and not get frustrated to the point of screaming and shouting…
…except Boo Bear is one of the few things in my life that’s not only stable, but is completely and unconditionally forgiving. And she’s being poisoned because someone who thinks he can bend the rules because he knows what’s better for my dog over the advice of a vet gives her a little chicken. And a little chilli. And a little grease. And a little gravy.
So I have to forgive my Dad. How does that translate into the current living arrangement? I don’t know. On the one hand, the right thing to do is to keep giving him shelter. But can it be good for any of us if we’re constantly at each other’s throats because he thinks he knows best for all of us, and we all know that he’s actually hurting not just himself, but his behavior is effecting others now as well?