The scene: We’re all in the living room. Delilah is resting on her bed. Sarah, Tyler, and myself are playing with stacking blocks and farm animal toys. Tyler stands up, walks to Sarah, and gives her a hug. My heart melts at this random, unprovoked showing of love and affection.

“Dada,” Tyler says as he turns to face me.

“Yeah buddy?” My voice drips with enthusiasm, for I know that one of those delicious hugs is heading my way next. Tyler lifts his hand and points into the dining room.

“Out.”

*blink*

“Out?! You can’t kick me out. This is my house, not yours.”

Unfazed, Tyler repeats his simple, and ludicrous, command. “Out.”

In a happy, going-along-with-the-gag tone, I reply. “Fine, I’m outta here!” I stand up and storm from the room. Secretly (and irrationally), I’m crushed.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how he learned this. Tyler’s dear old dad, yours truly, says the same thing just about every night at the dinner table, including the pointing.

“Delilah, out.”

We have a “one strike and you’re out” system when we’re eating. The moment Delilah goes scavenging under the table, we send her into the other room. Sometimes we don’t notice until we hear a slurping sound as she tries to lick a piece of cheese off the floor. Or when we try to figure out why Tyler has his hand under the table and is giggling hysterically (those two are gonna be trouble). Or, most recently, when Tyler narcs her out himself by shouting “LILAA!” (that’s my boy) when she starts nuzzling and snorting around the general vicinity of Tyler’s highchair.

Delilah is a smart dog. A damn smart – and stupid – dog, in fact. When I, or Sarah, tell her “out,” she knows that the jig is up and it’s time to get out of town so that she may live to fight another day. We really don’t even need to say the word though. Most times, I can just point to the doorway and she will make her (sulky) exit. She can sit, down, shake, and out with hand signals only. Like I said, damn smart. Although I can point OR command her out of the room, I have a tendency of doing both.

Tyler picked up on it and promptly copied me. He pointed out of the kitchen and commanded, “Lilaa” pause pause pause “OUT.”

I laughed. Sarah laughed. Laughing was a mistake.

“Lilaa” pause pause pause “OUT.”

And then a few days later…

“Dada.”

“Yeah buddy?”

“Out.”

What’s that they say about imitation and flattery? I’m not flattered.