A Provocation

That little fucker bit me!
The thought crossed my mind as I examined my thumb for broken skin. Only seeing the small indentation of teeth marks embedded on the flesh. No harm done....physically.
I was enjoying a peaceful Sunday afternoon with the soon to be Mrs., listening to Miles Davis on Pandora and enjoying a glass of red on the couch. In my jovial --yet admittedly mischievous nature --I decided to interact with our small white Terrier/Multese mix who was sitting in his own peace on the space of couch next to me, cradle warmly underneath the leg fold of my fiance's knee. 
For whatever reason, I'd thought I would give a few quick pops to the dogs rear --just for entertainment value --to see if he'd engage in some harmless play fighting. It would be all to my surprise that it was not so for the little fuzzy canine. He quickly lunged at my hand with all the ferocity of a rabid raccoon and found a mouthful that was my right thumb, digging his sharp mandibles into the small meat of the knuckle.
It wasn't so much the physical pain to my hand that began the boil of my tempermant, but that an animal that I thought to have a better acquaintance with would defend itself against me as if i was some unknown stranger. "All the walks and dinners I've provided for you at our expense! Surely, what is this world coming to??"
But what came next was, if not, more surprising. I lunged a hand at the poor dog's small lower mandible, aggressively challenging the animal in the most primitive combat known to any species. The wager that his bark was way to large for his bite and that my willingness to plunge my hand into his mouth, daring him to bite down with all his might and witness what sort of consequence would befall as a result.
But just as the confrontation began to escalate to epic proportions, his "mother" mercifully stepped in and squelched any further possible bloodshed. The tiny white dog was safe, and I, shamed and slightly betrayed, was left wiping the silva of my now sore fingers.
What has become of me?
To challenge my power against a lifeform that is obviously no match, or if anything, much in need of my graces. But why the sudden anger? No one on earth was questioning my manhood or social status --all having willingly admitted that I hold status over my relative domain and that this small, though shortsighted action by this occupying subject, is by no means any challenge to my seat.
So what the fuck gives?
If anything, I got hounded on by my fiance --explaining how the little dog didn't like to be bothered and that I was in the wrong for playing so rough. I argued my position but quickly realized that I was going to lose this argument. So I decided to be the bigger man and return to my studies. But after a moment of silence, the following words from my much beloved finance only added salt to the wound, "he probably doesn't like you anymore because you don't pet him enough."
What sort of tragedy has become of such a peaceful and tranquil Sunday afternoon? It was not as if I was pressing the matter, forcing all of my subjects into submission like some authoritarian. I had waved the white flagged and swallowed the rancid acid substance that was my pride. I had lost the battle. But this was a reckless provocation of continuing tension. Hasn't enough blood been spilt? I suppose the forces that be didn't have enough.
But I wasn't about to stoop to the expected low. I quietly picked up my book and went upstairs to continue reading, alone. After about 20 minutes, I was surprised to feel that the sting did not subside and that I just simply couldn't let it go. And so, I grabbed my keys and wallet, threw on a hooded sweatshirt and sandals, and left the apartment without so much as a word. "You will have to figure out their own dinners tonight. A man must reflect on his failure and come to grips upon is fallibility."
Over the years I've grappled with a much too explosive compulsion that always resorts to angered. In my 30s, I've been Fortunate to gain some wisdom and witness it happening before it can get to any sort of destruction. But it still doesn't make it any easier. If anything, the fear is much more pronounced, believing that every momentary confrontation can lead to certain doom.
My only course, when certain instances arrive, is to seek isolation and whether the storm as it passes by, without bystanders becoming unnecessary casualties. It is as if I devolve into some sort of a primitive state, only looking for immediate satisfaction such as food or entertainment --anything really that does not require any social responsibilities of being a "human."
Whatever the reason, I just need a break and a cold plate of pollo loco, consisting of two shrimp tacos and a side of rice and beans.
My fiancé will most likely wonder where I headed off two --probably an unanswered text message and a phone call that goes straight to voicemail because I set my mobile to airplane mode. She will probably ask about dinner when I get home and I will answer with a shrug and want to turn in early for the night. As I see it, it was a sacrifice on my part, to keep the peace and let sleeping dogs lie.


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