I have an admission to make — I lied.

We all know lying is wrong, whether it’s a “little white lie” or an outright big one. I’ve already confessed it, and I know I’m forgiven.

But, realizing we all should learn from our faults, I still find myself stumped to have done anything different under the circumstances.

See if you agree.

Darling Doggie Dallas and I are fond of taking walks. Long walks on sunny, warm days.

He sniffs other dogs; I chat with their owners. We enjoy being together in nature.

One day as we were walking, a BIG dog of indeterminate lineage charged down its driveway and past a street with a median. To get at DD, who was prancing beside me, minding his own business and not making so much as a peep.

Now, Dallas isn’t a baby. Nor is he what you’d call a feather-weight. He’s a substantial boy (yea, we’re working on that!), but I did what I could to keep him away from the “barking bully.”

I didn’t see any cars at the bully’s house. No owners. No fence.

So I did what any “little girl” would do — I screamed.

Probably didn’t help the situation any.

Dallas and I escaped, but the more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

After all, our town has a leash law. Dogs aren’t supposed to be running willy-nilly all over the place, picking on others.

And I called the animal shelter to register a complaint. They promised me they’d look into it.

A few days passed, and DD and I were again walking.

The “barking bully”‘s owner was outside this time. Mowing his lawn.

And he accosted me, demanding to know whether I was “the one who called the animal shelter” on his dog.

Gulp! Had the animal shelter given away my information? Information they assured me would remain private?

Feeling a bit like a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar, I did what any “kid” would do.

I lied.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” is how I believe I phrased it. (Sounds a bit like Simon Peter denying Jesus at the well, doesn’t it??)

I’m pretty sure he knew I wasn’t being truthful. I’m not exactly a practiced liar, and I had to turn my head to avoid his angry eyes.

It turns out, he has one of those electronic fences, but apparently, he’s not vigilant about changing the batteries.

Figures, doesn’t it? He’s okay with being lax in his obligation and passing the blame to somebody else.

The question is, Why do I feel bad?

Simple — I feel bad for the “bully” dog. It’s left by itself for long periods at a time, not played with by the owner’s kids, not particularly liked by the neighbors because of its incessant barking.

Who buys a dog and then ignores it??

So, tell me, what would you have done in my situation?