I always knew my dog held grudges. Not the dramatic, soap-opera kind, but the quiet, calculating kind—the kind where the tail still wags, but the eyes are clearly keeping score. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize how deep his resentment ran until the day my dog decided to take his revenge, and took it way too far.
It started with a betrayal. At least, that’s how he saw it. I left the house without him. No leash, no ride, no explanation—just a quick “be right back” and the door closing behind me. To me, it was a harmless trip to the grocery store. To him, it was abandonment, emotional devastation, and an unforgivable crime.
When I returned, he greeted me with excessive enthusiasm. Tail wagging. Happy spins. Face licks that felt almost aggressive. I thought I was forgiven. I was wrong.
The revenge began subtly. My shoes were relocated—one under the couch, the other in the backyard. A pillow mysteriously lost its stuffing, leaving behind what looked like a snowstorm of fluff. He watched me clean it up with an expression that was almost… satisfied.
Then things escalated.
That night, I found myself trapped in the middle of the bed, slowly being pushed toward the edge by forty pounds of dog who suddenly needed maximum personal space. Every time I tried to move him, he sighed dramatically, as if I were the problem. Sleep deprivation, I would later learn, is a powerful punishment tool.
But the final act of revenge was carefully planned. The next morning, as I poured myself a cup of coffee—my one source of hope—he sat patiently at my feet. Too patiently. Just as I lifted the mug to my lips, he let out a single, perfectly timed bark. I jumped. The coffee launched. It soaked my shirt, the counter, and my soul.
He didn’t bark again. He simply stared at me, calm and victorious.
That was when I knew this wasn’t random behavior. This was strategy. This was revenge served hot and caffeinated.
I tried to scold him, but he tilted his head and wagged his tail, instantly transforming back into the innocent creature I loved. How do you stay mad at someone who looks at you like you’re their entire world—even after ruining your morning?
Later that day, he brought me his favorite toy and dropped it at my feet. A peace offering. Or maybe a reminder of who really holds the power in this relationship.
I’ve learned my lesson. I now announce every departure, provide detailed explanations, and offer treats as compensation. Because my dog may forgive… but he never forgets. And next time, I fear his revenge might be even worse.
