Look into my eyes

Clancy just stared me through with a look that was both questioning and critical, as if he was trying to determine why I sharply reprimanded him.
I had never before had to resort to thumping him on the head to get his attention, and his stare directly into my eyes for more than an hour seemed to ask “Why?”
Before you accuse me of child abuse, you need to understand Clancy is not my son or my grandson – he’s not even a boy. Clancy is a dog who adopted my wife and me when he was a starving, abused puppy. Now, I fear, Clancy wonders why, after nothing but love for the last seven years, I betrayed his trust by knuckle-bumping him on the top of his head.
I tried my best to ignore his stare, but I could feel Clancy’s eyes seeing through me right down to my soul. I continued to watch television – the Cardinals were playing the Diamondbacks, and they were rallying late in the game. It was quite exciting for Cardinals’ fans, and if I am anything I am a Cardinals’ fan – but even Albert Pujols knocking in three runs couldn’t appease my guilt as Clancy continued his stare.
Finally, I tried to pet him. He did not really object, but neither did he respond – Clancy remained aloof and continued his pleading stare into my eyes.
“What have I done,” I asked my wife, “do you think I really hurt his feelings?” We spent the next hour or so trying to psychoanalyze our dog. It’s not easy getting into a dog’s mind.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” my wife said. “You had to do something to get his attention away from that other dog, or there would have been a fight.”
She was right, of course. Clancy is very protective of us, and when an unleashed dog approaches the ‘Banister pack’ while we are out for our evening neighborhood walk, Clancy makes a stand.
“If we were being attacked, you wouldn’t have stopped him,” my wife reassured, “but you couldn’t let Clancy devour a poor little puppy just wanting to make friends.”
She was right again. She’s always right (but don’t tell her I said so). Clancy is 100 pounds of muscle, and if I don’t maintain control he will discover I’m not really the Alpha male of the pack.
The Cardinals game was turning into a rout –  the Diamondbacks were snake bit. At this point of the game, I would normally be doing my victory dance around my rocking chair, but my heart just wasn’t in it. I had broken a sacred trust with my dog… no, with my friend, my very dear friend Clancy. I used corporal punishment for the first time in our years together, and fear I’ve lost his love.
The odd stare from Clancy continued, and I was so deep into remorse I was ready to take an extra Prozac. I was sure I would have trouble sleeping – in fact, I wondered if Clancy would even take his regular place at my side of the bed. The pleading eyes were about to do me in, and then a thought came to me.
“Did you feed Clancy after our walk tonight?” The therapy session had a very happy ending as Clancy did his victory dance around his dog food bowl. I slept very well, and so did Clancy in his regular place at my side of the bed. So much for dog therapy.

p.s. – My editor said he liked the column, but asked what it has to do with agriculture. It’s so obvious; the St. Louis Cardinals have a farm team – duh. Editors!