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After many (okay, two, but damn if it doesn't feel much, much longer) years of trying to get our four-legged fucktards to get their crapping schedules coordinated, B. has devised a solution. And surprise of surprises, it actually works.

"Did you know that dogs fall for mind games and peer pressure?" he asked one night about a week ago.

Now, "mind games" presumes that there's a mind to play with. Apparently, B. has not met our dogs, who still look for ice cream in the middle of the kitchen floor because once, about a year ago, I dropped a big scoop of chocolate-almond and by God, there was ice cream! Falling from the sky! And it landed right there! And it might happen again! Maybe! You never know! What's ice cream?

Chloe's still looking for noodles under the kick plate of the cabinet by the stove because she found one, once, shortly after we acquired her in June, 1999.

And yet, B.'s tactic works. It goes something like this:

1. Stand at backdoor and summon idiot dogs.

2. When first idiot dog arrives, loudly heap praise, even if idiot dog is covered with fecal matter and has recently devoured a fake Christmas tree she found in the neighbors' trash.

3. When praise is being administered, second idiot dog will come flying out of nowhere, burglers be damned, to get her share of the praise.

Next experiment: use dog peer pressure to encourage them to drink beer.