Flyswatter

"Ray, get the fly," I said to the hound flopped in the front hall. 

Ray bolted up off of the carpet and charged into the living room ready for the hunt.

"Tap the glass," I said to my lovely husband sitting across the room from me next to the sliding glass door.

Gregg obligingly tapped his fingernail against the glass door. The fly buzzed and pinged then flew off into the kitchen. Ray mooshed his nose and tongue against the glass in pursuit of his prey then, when the fly flew off, stood alertly with his tail curled over his back. 

"He went into the kitchen, Ray," I told the dog as I stood up to show him where it had gone. 

Ray followed me into the kitchen at a trot. The fly had landed on the flap of the dog door. 

"He's over here, Ray," I said as I tapped my finger on the flap. 

Ray barreled over to catch the fly, mooshing his nose against the dog flap and then the glass of the kitchen door as it flew there. The little buzzer made a few crazy loops around the room before flying back into the living room. Ray listened intently to 'see' where the bug had gone then looked to me for guidance. I poked my head through the living room door and saw the insect back on the sliding glass door. 

"He's in here, Ray," I said to my flyswatter.

Ray hustled back into the living room, ready for action. 

The fly pinged twice then flew to the window over the couch. Ray followed, hopping up on the couch and putting his feet on the back, mooshing and slobbering across the bottom of the window in an attempt to catch his tiny prey. 

The fly didn't linger, buzzing off into the house.

With Ray clinging to my heels, I went to see if the fly had gone to ping against the windows in the family room. Ray launched himself onto the couch there to see if any action was to be had on the window behind, then, when no fly was to be found, curled up for a quick nap. 

Disappointed that the game had ended without resolution, I went to sit back down; a minute later the fly landed once again on the sliding glass door.

"Ray, the fly's back!" I called to my hound.

Ray sprang off of his couch, pranced into the room, and attacked the buzzer with full force. The winged wonder escaped him, once again flying to the window over the couch on which I was sitting. Ray followed in hot pursuit.

The fly met his doom at the end of a big black nose and a hot wet tongue. 

I congratulated my self-propelled flyswatter, reveling in the hound's mastery of fly hunting. 

I added "wash windows" to my to-do list.