I love my daughter. She's a doll. You know there is a "but" coming soon, right? Well, she's three years old and I've decided three year olds are lunatics. Sweet, cute little lunatics, but still lunatics that must be watched every moment of every day. Case in point, today I am talking with my friend Jessica on the phone and I hear Chance, our older little terrier, snap at something. Who am I kidding, not something....someone. I knew it was Greta without even thinking. Left to her own devices she will always gravitate toward the dog, which is really her only playmate (besides myself) since Wesley started school. So I head into the living room to find Greta crying, holding her cheek. The dog bit her cheek, not drawing blood (thank goodness) but leaving two fairly large red spots. The conversation went something like this:
Me: "Are you ok? What happened?!?"
Greta: "Chancy bit me!!!"
Me: "What did you do to the dog to make him bite you?"
Greta: "......I tried to cut his eye with the scissors."
You know, as a mother, I suppose I should be mad at the dog for biting. But I'm not. The dog needs to defend himself. Poor Chance looked so scared. I went and gave him a big rub on the belly and told him to bite her whenever she tries something like that again, just don't break the skin.
Oh and the scissors? They are gone. These kids are going to have to tear paper until Greta is old enough to stop pulling these shenanigans.