My wife Carolina and I were at home in a large ranch-style house which we owned outright. We were in the living room with my father and several other people who had stopped by to visit. As we all lolled around, my pet Dalmatian Chaucer (also in the living room with us), became sick, and began retching as if he were going to vomit. As Carolina tried to help Chaucer, I looked for a paper to put in front of him so he wouldn't throw up on the floor. When I found a paper and turned back toward Chaucer, I noticed a large pile of dark brown feces right in the middle of the floor.

My father, meanwhile, upset because Chaucer was in the house, was trying to kick him and force him out of the room. I became extremely angry with my father that he was acting that way toward Chaucer, and I interjected myself between them so I could protect Chaucer. I made as if I were also trying to kick Chaucer, but I was only acting and I had no intention of actually kicking him. At the same time I began screaming at my father, and realizing the other people in the room were watching me, I hollered out that he was treating Chaucer the same way he used to treat me when I had been a small child. I exclaimed that when I had been four or five years old, my father used to kick me and beat me. All these years, since the time of my beatings, I had lived with this resentment for my father. Now, this was the final straw, that he was trying to treat my dog the same way he had treated me when I had been small. Finally, in anger I walked up to my father and called him a "fat pig."

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