It appears a common theme in Internet forums is for people to comment on a thread with a four-lettered “F” word to perfectly sum up how they feel about others. It seems that angered Internet forum commenters have become either so disenfranchised at the idea of starting a serious conversation with text on a screen or just flat out lazy.

The term “Fail” has sprung up in my daily life. This is partly due to the fact that some people I work with use Internet slang in colloquial speech, i.e. “gg” instead of good job, LOL, and so forth. Fail has cropped up as a catchall phrase when anybody does anything wrong or didn’t hear something someone said or basically as a condescending retort to just about anything anyone says. It’s obnoxious and it really forces people to attempt to not “fail” so they don’t get bombarded with condemnation.

Very recently I had to acknowledge my own failure. Not in some cutesy internet-slang kind of way, but with a living creature. I failed with the generally simple task of owning a dog. Let me back track a little. Ash and I had adopted a dog in a means of keeping us busy and giving us something to focus on as life, at the time, wasn’t the greatest. Quickly things changed, we both got very demanding jobs that are both time and attention intensive. Thus leaving our poor dog, Eko, caged the vast majority of the time. The poor boy hated it and began lashing out at us, peeing on the couch and bed.

Everyone was unhappy with the situation and we were left with a difficult decision. Do we continue with the way things are and pretend everything is okay? Or do we accept defeat and wrongdoing in the acquisition of our pet and acknowledge that we failed in caring for this living creature.

We admitted that we hadn’t thought dog ownership through enough and agreed that we had failed in providing him the life that he deserved. We made plans with another family for them to take him and give him the life he deserves, one of attention and praise and a yard. It was hard to see him go but not as hard as it could have been. The new family was absolutely ecstatic about him, Ash and I were happy to know he was going to have a rich and full life outside the confines of his tiny cage, and Eko seemed genuinely happy as well, since as of late we had showered him with very little attention and praise.

What have I taken away from all of this besides “think through big decisions a little more before acting on them”? I learned that sometimes the best thing you can possibly do is acknowledge that you’ve failed at something. If I had tried to dissuade myself from acknowledging my shortcomings in caring for another living being and relegated this poor guy to a cage for the vast majority of his natural born life, I may have avoided “failing” as people on the internet are so quick to brand others with, but I also would have stolen a much better life for a very loving and energetic puppy.

I’m not so happy that I failed, but I’m pleased that I had the ability to acknowledge my failure and make things right with no ego involved. I saw a problem and corrected it with no attempt to save face. I didn’t try and talk my way out of my wrongdoing. I accept my failure and with that I know I’ve done right, I will not hide behind excuses, and I didn’t delay the departure of my puppy as an attempt to prove myself right when I was so clearly wrong accepting him into my home. Failure is not the worst thing that could happen to someone. The paralytic fear of failure that causes someone to not even try is much worse.

Labels: Eko, Failure, Pets