On Being Loved...

I came home from work tonight to find my back door swarming with insects.

Now, I hate insects. I realize that, ecologically speaking, insects have their role to play. The problem here is that, quite frankly, I don't really care. They get stuck in my hair and they infest everything, and occasionally they bite my horse. And when things bite my horse?

I get very, very cranky.

Regadless, I'm not sure how best to deal with getting inside one's house without allowing a large mass of insects to follow. I sometimes feel like keeping a large can of BugWhacker on the back porch, spraying them down, waiting thirty seconds, and entering.

But that would be environmentally unfriendly, what with the aerosol and the poison and everything.

At any rate, I did decide to enter my home, surrounded by a swarming mass of insects. I walked into the kitchen, and awaiting me was a herd of wild beasts. Two thirds of the herd starting jumping and making noise and shedding hair around my feet.

And then there was the last third.

The final third waited patiently under the table, whining and squealing the way she does when I come home from work. And after the first two thirds had been let outside -- which allowed a whole new swarm of insects into the kitchen -- the last third, Dixie, came to my feet.

And she howled, and whined, and carried on and licked my face.

And the noise and the hair and the dog breath didn't bother me one single bit, because these are the reasons I get out of bed in the morning. My puppy loves me, and I love my puppy, and her howling when I walk in the door is what makes my life worthwhile.