This entry is almost too sad and pathetic to post but here goes anyway.
Mom's furniture finally (!!) arrived from Pods (who I do NOT recommend you use -- EVER) and we've spent the last couple of days hauling in boxes and unpacking. At one point I was in the kitchen unwrapping glasses while Bailey, Mom's fat Maltese, sat at my feet. He gave a whimper and I leaned over to pet him. A few minutes later, another whimper. Then a third, even louder.
"Mom--something's wrong with Bailey," I called.
She came in and looked around. "Oh, there's a fly," she said. "He's scared of flies."
Seriously, folks? Scared of flies?
Sure enough, the next time the fly buzzed overhead Bailey ducked down as if avoiding the grasp of a circling pterodactyl.
"You are an embarrassment to dogs everywhere," I informed him. His only reply was a whimper as the fly buzzed overhead again.
"It's okay, Bailey," said Mom, appearing with a fly swatter. "Mommy will kill the fly."
"Okay, this just keeps getting weirder," I said.
Just so you can all move on with your day, I'm happy to report that we succeeded in shooing the fly outside and Bailey the mighty Maltese is once again the ruler of the house.
At least until a dust bunny shows up.