|Scout and Chandler, hunting the elusive Bombus Pennsylvanicus|
From my office I heard the crash followed by both dogs barking and Mark screaming.
"What the hell's going on out there?" I yell without even looking up.
"Ahhh... I hate you. Goddamned dogs, I hate you."
Mark doesn't really hate the dogs. Just at that moment he hated them. You see, Chandler is a hunter. He loves to hunt squirrels, rabbits, rats, little children, the letter carrier (formerly, the mailman), bumblebees, and flies. It was a fly that had got into the house and in his attempt to capture and kill it, Chandler had knocked a book off the shelf. That was the crashing sound. Of course little Scout had to get in on the barking. All this made Mark crazy, and caused him to use one of the most irritating phrases I have ever heard used in the English language. "I'm done." That is what Mark said, "I'm done." It is the phrase of the quitter, of the man who doesn't even want to try, and that is not what I do when it comes to my dogs. Those furry trouble makers will learn if it's the last thing I do. And if they don't learn to behave, I will learn to put up with them. I will mop up the pee, I will pick up the shredded paper, and I will ignore all the noise. But I have a feeling Chandler and Scout will learn one thing. Not to hunt those bumblebees. Chandler has been stung on the face at least twice, and I think he's done.