How I freak myself out

I'm just gonna put this out there: That picture of Brogan below is too effin' cute, but the whole bit of text that goes along with it gives me the creeps.

Yeah, I'm feaking myself out.

Here's why: I think it's CREEPY when people write things on behalf of their pets and/or on behalf of children who are not yet communicating anything meaningful. I also think it's creepy when people issue communications on behalf of humans who are in comas or persistant vegetative states.

Believe me when I tell you I have been the recipient of all of the above and that it's just TOO FUCKING WEIRD!

So what in the hell possessed me to write something on behalf of my dog?! Especially when it's clear he doesn't have a well-developed voice (in a literary sense), when he's threatening to reveal my secrets and ... oh jesus, it doesn't matter ... it's just messed up.

I should delete the post, but I think I'd rather just flay myself in public than silently slink off without really cursing myself.

But I do want to make some kind of excuse for myself. It's the illness. It's the crud in my lungs. It's the fact that my little dude has started trying to *gallop* on the end of his leash while I shuffle along behind him. Also, it was the cute photo and the fact that I just wanted to figure out how to post a picture in my blog, and I liked how this one maintained his anonymity while still revealing his essential cuteness.

None of that really matters, though. There's really no excuse for what I did, barring a psychotic break of some sort. My Catholic upbringing tells me there's only one sentence that can start to undo the general ewww-ewwwyness of this, and it begins, "Forgive me, father, for I have sinned...."