Dwight ran a hand through his thinning hair. Why it was already thinning at his age was impossible to say, but most believed it was his wife. Some say it was the constant strain of raising some rather odd children. While Dwight was an efficient worker, it wasn’t easy for him to keep track of fatherly things, like the daily post and his daughter, both of which were currently missing.

“Mary?”

No reply. He shook his head and surveyed the wide beet field in front of him. “Mary, I hope you stayed clear of the poison ivy. I’m out of calamine lotion since Robbie drank it last night, so I can’t do anything for the itch if you accidentally ingest some of it.” He strained his ears and heard a quiet shuffling.

“What does poison ivy look like?” came a muffled voice from a nearby cluster of beat plants.

“Like marijuana.”

“What’s marijuana?”

Dwight rubbed his temple, the thousands of words in his impressive vocabulary failed him except, “Damn it.” He sighed. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“I’ll just ask Mommy then,” the voice piped up.

Dwight’s eyes widened with fear. “Hey, Mary. Where are you hiding?” He had a burlap sack with him and he wasn’t afraid to use it if it came to that. Angela could not know that he mentioned marijuana to their four-year-old. Also, Angela could also not find out that Mary had missing for the past three hours.

“How about we play a game?” Dwight asked, using his innate hunting skills to scan the field for any sight of his daughter. “It’s called ‘Let’s get out of the field so we don’t get poison ivy and the feel the wrath of Mommy.’ I promise that it’s fun,” Dwight cooed, attempting to lure her out of her hiding spot, a technique used to utmost success when trapping wild game.

“You’re just afraid of what Mommy will do when she finds out that I stole the mail.”

“God damn it! That was you? Give it back right now!” Dwight yelled. He pounced where he suspected Mary was, but only landed on the last few precious beets of the season.

“Mary!” he roared. He heard the rustling of tall plants and a gleeful giggle to his right. “Time to put my gift to use,” Dwight snarled slowly. He broke into a run in the direction the plants were swaying.

Dwight snatched at the air wherever he felt a presence, he dived, he ran wildly, everything a Schrute is born to do. Unfortunately for him, when combined with Marten genes, an even faster little Schrute is born.

With each little laugh, he became more and more livid. “Mary!”

There it was: a bright flash of orange converse. Dwight lunged and-- SUCCESS!

“Gotcha,” Dwight purred.

Mary struggled and kicked, and she even managed to get a tooth into Dwight’s ankle before he pulled her to her feet.

Mary put on her nastiest scowl as she looked at her father: he was covered in mud and grass stains all the way from his knees to his collarbone and panting heavily. His eyes were glowing from his successful hunt, and his lips were curling slowly but surely up at the corners.

This only made her roll her little brown eyes, but then she saw something truly frightening.

“That’s right, young one,” Dwight breathed. “You should be scared. Grandpa Schrute perfected the process of grounding, which is exactly what I’m going to do. Phase One consists of room confinement and meager rations.”

Mary whimpered over Dwight’s shoulder.

“Part of the punishment requires looking directly into the punisher’s eyes, to feel the heat radiating from them.” He pointed to his eyes with two fingers. “Right there… No, right here,” he said again when Mary continued to look over his shoulder.

“Dwight, why are you and Mary covered in stains? And what does she have in her hands?” an icy voice asked slowly and quietly.

Dwight’s eyes widened in panic. He whipped around, and there was the most frightening thing he’d had to deal with all day: his wife. It also happened to be the sexiest.

Angela was standing with her hands on her hips, and a look of utmost contempt on her face, which turned him on and scared the hell out of him at the same time.

“Monkey?” he pleaded hopefully.

Mary looked between both of them, confused. But encoded in her was the most dominant Schrute gene of all: Save your own ass.

“Daddy said damn it.”

Both Schrutes spent the rest of the evening undergoing Phase One.