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Guest
Guest
Through out my childhood, I'd always wanted a pet dog. I remember pleading to my parents daily to let me have one; annoying hell out of them.(daily is, perhaps, an exaggeration. Bi-weekly, more like.) I used to beg shamelessly, making deals with my mom telling her like, 'I won't fight with my brothers,' or, 'I'll watch TV much less. I'm responsible, so please, please, pleeease.'
My parents, as wise as they were and they still are, finally relented. They had bought me a two-weeks-old puppy.
The pup was of Shetland sheep dog kind-It looked like a miniature copy of 'Lassie' and didn't look anything like the real working sheep dogs one finds in UK.
I named the pup, Kelly. I wanted to call her Carrie, but back then, I couldn't pronounce it: so she became an honorary Irish sheep dog.
I fed her puppy food. I cleaned the mess she'd made. I absolutely adored her.
I had read many books on how to take good care of my pet dog: how to make her be a good doggie. (N.B. I was twelve at the time.) One thing grabbed hold of my attention was an advice to use a rolled up news papers to discipline one's dog; to hit the pup with it. It was reasoned that the tool will make a lot of noise, but not so much pain; that the puppy would remember the surprise of sudden, loud noises rather than the slight pain the connections with the rolled-up news papers would offer.
Thinking back, hitting a puppy with a rolled-up news papers is cruel; almost like a circus (beast?) master and his whip. But, I was a kid: a kid who got a slap on the head when misbehaved.
Question one:
Should a parent allowed to hit his/her child to discipline. There are increasing number of out of control kids out there these days.
Mind you. My parents were never excessive in using physical punishments on me. I did deserve what I got. I can tell you that. I was often out of order.
I've been thinking about Kelly, my dog, a lot lately.
I remember one sunny winter day. I must have been fourteen, or fifteen.
A winter break. Freshly fallen powder snow. Blinding sunlight.
I'm playing with Kelly in a public park. I throw a handful of the powdery white at her and she jumps at the white dust. She sniffs in the icy dust and sneezes.
I run around the park like an idiot followed forever by Kelly. We are generally having a great fun. I'm sweating under all the protective gear against the cold air.
Suddenly, I let myself fall down into the soft snow, acting like I'm dead. I want to see what Kelly does. Sheep dogs are the smart ones, right?
twenty minutes pass. What does my dog do? Nothing. She just sits by my side. (half of my face is freezing, BTW<chuckle>) No licking my face. No barking. No wagging tail. She sits absolutely still.
I'm thinking, 'Is my dog as dumb as I think, or is she so smart that she knows I'm just faking this.'
Subsequently I'm thinking, 'Why doesn't she do what a normal dog does, like licking of face, wagging of tail, etc.'
This incident really happened. I wrote it as I experienced it.
Anyway, back to the point.
Question two:
Is it only me who's thinking the relationship between my dog and I were somewhat fucked up? Am I correct in assuming my disciplining of her in her puppy days had damaged her psychologically.
I tell you how fucked up she was;
A-She was useless as a guard dog. I can't remember her barking once.
B-The first thing she did whenever I approached her was to show me her soft belly in a gesture of submission.
C-She never did her own thing while I was around. She always stayed beside me even when I wasn't in the mood to play.
Several years ago, I had a talk with my father as an adult to another. I told him I resented him for not disciplining my younger brothers the way he did to me.
My old man said, 'I stopped using physical punishment when I saw you cower away, holding your head in your hands, even though I wasn't going to hit you.'
I was a bully in my youth.
Suddenly, it made everything clear to me. Why my grown up brother, who hadn't seen me for over five years cower from my hands, when I tried to ruffle his hair because he'd made a smart-ass comment to me.
My brother assumed I was going to hit him, or his body just reacted in reflex.
I resented him not being hit like I did. So I kept hitting him as we grew up.
Now I'm ashamed.
Now I'm so ashamed that I can't talk to people. I can't look people in the eye. That's why I'm afraid to go out. It's obvious to me that my mind is gradually degrading with time.
Am I fucked up, or is it just pop-psychology?
My parents, as wise as they were and they still are, finally relented. They had bought me a two-weeks-old puppy.
The pup was of Shetland sheep dog kind-It looked like a miniature copy of 'Lassie' and didn't look anything like the real working sheep dogs one finds in UK.
I named the pup, Kelly. I wanted to call her Carrie, but back then, I couldn't pronounce it: so she became an honorary Irish sheep dog.
I fed her puppy food. I cleaned the mess she'd made. I absolutely adored her.
I had read many books on how to take good care of my pet dog: how to make her be a good doggie. (N.B. I was twelve at the time.) One thing grabbed hold of my attention was an advice to use a rolled up news papers to discipline one's dog; to hit the pup with it. It was reasoned that the tool will make a lot of noise, but not so much pain; that the puppy would remember the surprise of sudden, loud noises rather than the slight pain the connections with the rolled-up news papers would offer.
Thinking back, hitting a puppy with a rolled-up news papers is cruel; almost like a circus (beast?) master and his whip. But, I was a kid: a kid who got a slap on the head when misbehaved.
Question one:
Should a parent allowed to hit his/her child to discipline. There are increasing number of out of control kids out there these days.
Mind you. My parents were never excessive in using physical punishments on me. I did deserve what I got. I can tell you that. I was often out of order.
I've been thinking about Kelly, my dog, a lot lately.
I remember one sunny winter day. I must have been fourteen, or fifteen.
A winter break. Freshly fallen powder snow. Blinding sunlight.
I'm playing with Kelly in a public park. I throw a handful of the powdery white at her and she jumps at the white dust. She sniffs in the icy dust and sneezes.
I run around the park like an idiot followed forever by Kelly. We are generally having a great fun. I'm sweating under all the protective gear against the cold air.
Suddenly, I let myself fall down into the soft snow, acting like I'm dead. I want to see what Kelly does. Sheep dogs are the smart ones, right?
twenty minutes pass. What does my dog do? Nothing. She just sits by my side. (half of my face is freezing, BTW<chuckle>) No licking my face. No barking. No wagging tail. She sits absolutely still.
I'm thinking, 'Is my dog as dumb as I think, or is she so smart that she knows I'm just faking this.'
Subsequently I'm thinking, 'Why doesn't she do what a normal dog does, like licking of face, wagging of tail, etc.'
This incident really happened. I wrote it as I experienced it.
Anyway, back to the point.
Question two:
Is it only me who's thinking the relationship between my dog and I were somewhat fucked up? Am I correct in assuming my disciplining of her in her puppy days had damaged her psychologically.
I tell you how fucked up she was;
A-She was useless as a guard dog. I can't remember her barking once.
B-The first thing she did whenever I approached her was to show me her soft belly in a gesture of submission.
C-She never did her own thing while I was around. She always stayed beside me even when I wasn't in the mood to play.
Several years ago, I had a talk with my father as an adult to another. I told him I resented him for not disciplining my younger brothers the way he did to me.
My old man said, 'I stopped using physical punishment when I saw you cower away, holding your head in your hands, even though I wasn't going to hit you.'
I was a bully in my youth.
Suddenly, it made everything clear to me. Why my grown up brother, who hadn't seen me for over five years cower from my hands, when I tried to ruffle his hair because he'd made a smart-ass comment to me.
My brother assumed I was going to hit him, or his body just reacted in reflex.
I resented him not being hit like I did. So I kept hitting him as we grew up.
Now I'm ashamed.
Now I'm so ashamed that I can't talk to people. I can't look people in the eye. That's why I'm afraid to go out. It's obvious to me that my mind is gradually degrading with time.
Am I fucked up, or is it just pop-psychology?
