What my dog taught me about anger
I struggle with anger. Or that’s the story I tell myself.
For those of you into Astrology, I have a lot of Aries in my chart. For those of you not into Astrology, when I get mad, I get really mad. It’s palpable. My wife once told me that my anger can fill a room. Admittedly, I don’t hide it well. Some might call this being hot tempered. Others might call this a problem. In the past, my anger has cost me friends, relationships, and opportunities. Hence why I think I struggle.
Today, however, I’m befriending my dog of war. Because anger isn’t “bad,” yet it can be misguided. Best case, it’s a power.
First, an unlikely teacher.
Lately, the object of my warring has been my youngest dog, Artie. He’s a 1.5-year-old hound. He’s sweet, but he’s also a colossal nut. He’s a 50-lbs barrel of monkeys who has chewed his way through our home and dug up our yard. He whines and barks constantly and is hair-triggered by cartoons, falling leaves, and the zoomies.
Truthfully, maybe his hair-trigger is like his dad’s. And by “dad,” I’m referring to myself. I hate to say it, but we’re not dissimilar.
Here’s how it goes: Artie does something, and I get triggered. Then I seethe, get pissed, and — beyond a tipping point — yell and shout. Thereafter I carry a proverbial dark cloud for a day, a week, a month, an hour (it depends).
What my dog taught me about anger and how to manage it
I’m mature enough to know that shouting isn’t always appropriate. But when I skip yelling, I carp toward a caring third party, often my wife (Jocelynn, I’m so sorry and yet so grateful). Some of this is helpful, but too much perpetuates the problem. Then I become insufferable (again, Jocelynn, tsunami of apologies).
Next comes regret. “Why am I such a piece of sh*t?” I wonder. And then shame and guilt. It’s the shame that leads to a second problem. Like a metaphoric hellhound, shame pushes my anger underground.
Why this matters: pushed underground, my disassociated anger is an act of repression intended to preserve a positive self-image. Some of this is good. In fact, it’s human. The problem isn’t anger. The problem is the combination of my “bad” story combined with the pressure-cooker of it going sub-level.
So today and going forward, I’m attempting to feel my anger first. Thereafter I aim to take a beat, a walk, a night’s sleep, or a breath. Such a space lets me consider the mode as much as the message while managing the direction.
And Artie? He’s a puppy. He doesn’t get it. My anger within does not equate to his behavior without. And the best thing about dogs is that they forgive and move on. Have you ever seen two dogs from the same pack fight? They bark… and then cuddle.
If you have a bark, I recommend giving it a listen first — our dogs are messengers. Even if you think the method is bad, it might have something to teach you about yourself. What you do thereafter is another story. Nonetheless, it helps to start with the source.
One writer that changed my relationship to the “negative” parts of myself: Charles Bukowski
Bukowski isn’t for everyone. He’s vulgar. He’s violent. He’s irreverent. And he’s a drunk. But within his debauchery, there’s a poetry. Of class. Of loneliness. Of clinging to life in spite of indefatigable boredom and terror.
I started with Post Office. I loved it. It felt like waking from a bad dream to a worse hangover after a rough night of drinking with a drowned fly in the dregs of yesterday’s watered-down tumbler.
Even the ugly parts can be beautiful. If nothing else, they’re worth a look.
Here’s a good collection of Bukowski’s short stories, if you want something more noncommittal.
A tool that improved my baking: the KitchenAid® Bread Bowl with Baking Lid
When it comes to a time-tested practice, bread making is nearly as old as human culture.
During the pandemic, my wife, who was already a good baker, became an exceptional one. I, on the other hand, went from reluctant to okay. If I improved, it was only due to watching Jocelynn AND The Great British Baking Show.
Speaking of, Hi Prue, Noel, and Alison! What’s up, Paul?
Come on, guys. They don’t read this newsletter.
Not yet, anyway.
But baking, especially bread making, is amazing. I’m hooked (and, yes, that’s a baking joke). Mix flour, yeast, salt, and water; proof it; and presto: you have dough primed to feed a family.
The KitchenAid® Bread Bowl has upped my game tenfold. It’s a ceramic bowl that does everything — mixing, proofing, baking, and shaping. And like a good loaf, it’s simple and elegant. Plus, it attaches to any KitchenAid® mixer.
Make bread. It’s as old as civilization. The KitchenAid® Bread Bowl isn’t necessary, but it helps.
