I never thought I’d reach a point in my adult life where I would have to hover over the remote like a paranoid teenager trying to switch the channel before their parents walk in. Except in my case, I’m not hiding anything scandalous. I’m hiding commercials from my dog. Yes, commercials. Because my big dog watches TV. Like, really watches it. High-definition-retina-display-level watches it. The canine’s eyesight is better than mine and I’m the one paying for prescription glasses.

And he doesn’t simply watch passively like my other two dogs, who seem to believe the screen is a decorative wall of light and sound. Nope. This one sees actual beings on there. Dogs, horses, whales, the occasional animated squirrel. He studies them like an air traffic controller scanning the skies for enemy aircraft. And the moment an animal pops up all bets are off. He launches himself at the TV with the zeal of a bouncer who has had enough of someone trying to sneak into the club without paying cover.

I imagine he thinks these animals are trying to enter the house. Because who wouldn’t assume that a giant blue whale is attempting to breach the living room via Samsung Smart TV?

Now, what is most vexing is that the great villain of modern living, the saboteur of my home tranquility is not actual programming. It’s commercials. I swear commercials have unionized against me. They are the chaos agents of streaming life. The minute I exhale, thinking I’m safe because I’m on a paid streaming platform (Max, Hulu, you know, the ones that promise “less ads” but somehow summon more?), then BAM comes a random goat, horse, llama, or golden retriever drops onto the screen like a furry grenade.

Let’s take Tagrisso’s 90-second “So I Can” commercial. I think it’s for lung cancer? I’m not even fully sure because all I see is a group of people doing yoga while goats stampede across the hardwood floor like they’re auditioning for Goat Olympics: Zen Edition. Why? Why are there goats? What is the symbolism? Are they the emotional support goats of chemotherapy? Are we channeling some obscure ancient goat-centric healing ritual? Or are pharmaceutical companies just throwing barnyard animals into ads to keep the viewer awake?

All I know is that in my house, this commercial is a declaration of war.

The big dog sees the goats. The big dog launches. The big dog sounds the alarm. The two other dogs, who couldn’t see a three-story giraffe if it knocked on the front door, immediately join in because they trust their brother. Pack behavior at its best (or worst). The big one barks, the other two bark because something must be happening, and suddenly my peaceful living room turns into a canine version of “War of the Worlds.”

There I am, clutching the remote like it’s a life raft, sprinting across streaming platforms, muting the sound, lowering the brightness, trying to distract my dog with a treat like “LOOK OVER THERE, A SNACK, PLEASE DON’T DESTROY A $900 TELEVISION BECAUSE OF GOATS DOING YOGA.”

Meanwhile, the advertisers are probably somewhere in a polished conference room saying, “What if we add a baby goat to the cancer drug commercial? That will evoke empathy and relatability.”

No. What it evokes is me diving across the couch like a Secret Service agent shielding the President.

I used to think parenting a teenager was complicated. Now I’m parenting a dog who needs a content-warning label for animals.

Life comes at you fast. And sometimes it comes at you in the form of a goat. On TV. Which your dog thinks is trying to break into your living room to steal his squeaky or grab a hug from you.