An inconsequential moment of shame

The route the dogs and I take on our three-times-a-day, once-around-the-block walks is governed by the presence of other people walking their dogs.

My guys get so excited upon seeing other canines that we must cross the street or turn around to avoid being on the same side of the street as other dogs.

This morning, we are out delightfully early and pass no one on the first three sides of the block. But then, as we make the final right turn to arrive home, we encounter a lady who has stopped to toss food to a group of loud and thankful crows, and she has a German shepherd with her.

Our quickest route to the house thereby blocked, JJ, Sparky, and I cross to the other side of the street. As we make it down the block, the woman and her dog remain in place.

The chicken coop! I forgot about the chicken coop at the house catercorner from our house!

JJ doesn’t forget his sworn enmity with the henhouse inhabitants. He lunges and makes his displeasure loudly known.

I pull him away, still barking.

The woman says something, which, due to the ruckus, I can’t make out.

I smile and wave as I continue to calm JJ (and Sparky, too—he got excited because his brother got excited).

Then I make out her words, “You really shouldn’t let your dogs terrorize those birds.”

“Fuck yourself; I’ve got enough going on,” I think, but say instead “I thank you for commenting.”

As I cross at the corner and get the dogs into the house, I feel shame

She wasn’t trying to make me feel unloved, of that I’m fairly certain.

I know that I oughtn’t take it personally.
But I do. 

I feel shame.

I tell myself I’ve done nothing wrong.
But, the feeling I’m wrong persists.

I tell the shame to leave.
It does not.

I unclip the dogs and they shake their dry bodies as they might if they were wet. 

I try it myself—a quick shake.

And, it helps.