This never gets old to me.

During dinner the other night I noticed a fly in our house.  I’m sure it got in because I have to leave the back door open a crack for Oliver while he’s outside.  It’s a big step for him to even leave my side to venture onto the back deck alone.  If the door isn’t open enough for him to put his snout in and pull it open he’ll just stand at the glass and cry at me.  While the heat and the bugs in Texas are not something I like to mess around with I let him have his door cracked open because I can’t take any more crying in a day.  He’ll come back in the house multiple times just to make sure I haven’t put him in the back yard and run out the front door while he was peeing on the shrubbery.

I noticed this fly because it kept dive bombing me at the dinner table.  Add it to the list of aggressive critters on the offensive around my house.  I got up from the table and waved my arms and screamed in that way that you do when you’re being attacked by a fly.  I grabbed the nearest magazine and started beating the walls in an attempt to kill the sucker.  Addison thought this outburst was hysterical.  She generally does think any sort of outburst around our house is funny rather than scary.  Last week when we came home to a kitchen full of broken glass I started screaming at Oliver in frustration.  I quickly looked over at Addison, thinking I must have frightened her, but she had her head thrown back in a fit of giggles.  In fact, any time I yell at the dog she finds it rather funny.  I have a theory about this; we’re a pretty quiet, level headed household.  There generally aren’t a lot of loud noises or raised voices around here so Addie gets excited when something – other than the sound of her own voice – finally breaks through and shakes things up a bit.

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