"An Angry Mob!"

If you wish a serene and peaceful life, as I passionately do, never disappoint an entire pack of large dogs.

The morning ticked away, and I remained indoors. It was blustery; a high cloud cover promised it was going to take its time getting acceptably warm outside. So I extended my "sitting around indoors" period past the point that the boys thought was quite right. Ghost, in particular, went outside and sat in the yard, looking increasingly disgruntled with my blatant mismanagement. At one point I made a second pot of coffee, and while it was brewing I bundled up the kitchen garbage and took it outside to stow in one of the sealed garbage cans. Bags of garbage are not a normal cue that it's Walkie Time, but the boys were reduced to living in hope: They gathered in the yard and indicated their readiness to be off. Instead I went back inside. This, they decided, was getting serious.

A few minutes later I had to make a choice between turning the heater back on or putting on a jacket. I opted for the jacket. In the collective opinion of the boys this was a cue that we were finally going to leave. Instead I poured my coffee, flopped on my bed and picked up a book.

No, the boys thought. In fact, hell no. Certain obligations can be decently deferred only so long, and they'd been more than fair. So I suddenly found myself with a lap full of three large heads, the owner of each wanting to make one thing perfectly clear.

"An angry mob!" I laughed, and vainly attempted to push them away. "All right! You win, let's go."

If Godzilla had been trying to enter the lair at that moment, he'd have been trampled in the doorway.