January 1, 2022

Roman tried. He truly did. But I could feel that it was just a matter of one more pressure before he would fall off the cliff. Already he was barely juggling the processing of Siku's death, the family trying to establish a new balance, the changing weather included pinging sleet, the pointless booms of fireworks...a lot for Our Boy to calmly, objectively sort.

This morning.  Diva, who is intent on becoming his friend, rushed between Steve's legs and past Bailey who acted as a blockade to plant her nose on Roman's flank. 

He whirled and in an instant had the little girl pinned to the ground. Thnkfully he wears his muzzle all of the time for I could tell the demons had ovecome him completely. I have not seen that totally dark look in ages and his body was tensed for serious damage. It took Steve's employment of the spray bottle and my legs pushing Diva away to get Roman into his crate. He snarled and gnashed even as Steve locked the door.

I understood what he is going through but I struggled not to make him the target of my frustrated anger. "I know, Roman. Times are confusing but you cannot hurt others; it won't make you feel better. Just rest in your crate where you are safe and no one will bother you." I choked back the sternness for tenderness and chose words to heal not punish; it was not easy.

He sat for quite a while just panting; the rest of the WDA gave him wide berth. Diva went off to the office. Finally, Roman slept as deeply as a drunk sleeping off a bender. "Help us find balance," I asaked the Universe, "and fill our troubled hearts with peace, especially Roman's."