Tage has been so loud and crazy for the past couple of hours that I feel in real danger of losing my fucking mind. He gets so wound up sometimes that it takes what seems like forever for him to come back down, and it’s anyone’s guess why he gets this way. Days like this I wonder where I’ll find the energy for a third child (not to mention the fourth one that I’ve been trying to talk Olof into — yes, it would appear that I’ve already gone ’round the bend).

It’s not just me he drives crazy, either, as you can see:

He is, I’m ashamed to admit, no friend to the animals, but most of them have figured out to steer clear of him. Not so Lucy, I’m afraid. I get just as fed up and frustrated with her as I do with Tage when she just stands there while he hits her and pulls on her face and otherwise makes her life a living hell. It shouldn’t be as hard as it seems for her to get a clue and flee the scene. I do what I can to make him leave her alone, but I do think that some of the responsibility should fall onto her as well. Stupid dog.