Another season of our discontent

Fly mask season began this week. There aren't that many flies buzzing about, which might be because it's so stinkin' dry, 

but the ones that are hanging around are big and mean and loud and vicious and and bothersome and obnoxious. 

I hate flies. Can you tell? Anyway, Lucy, Hank and George stand politely each morning while I put on their fly masks. 

Alan refuses to wear one, and I've given up arguing with him about it. 

Four days in to fly mask season, we've lost just one. George came home without his Monday night. It will turn up eventually, 

and I've got plenty of spares in the meantime. I know exactly how he loses them – Alan rips them off his head. 

It's one of their many brotherly games. So when I heard a ruckus and saw the dust flying behind the barn yesterday morning, 

I had a pretty good idea of what was going on before I went to investigate.

Me: Alan, must you?

Me: George, you're just as bad for standing there and letting him get away with it!

Alan: Nah nah nah nah nah! George got in trouble!

Me: I have better things to do than search for missing fly masks.

Me: Let this be a warning...stop ripping them off his head...or else!

I had no sooner taken a few steps back to the house...

...when it started all over again.

I've got to admire Alan's technique, though. He's got the velcro-ripping thing down to a science.

And he's so damned cute, it's impossible to stay mad at him.