We're supposed to be smarter than they are

When Funnyface wants to be taken for a walk, he goes over and stands in front of the spousal unit and yips.

(He knows better than to try that with me because I categorically refuse to walk him. And in another six months or so when Babyface is full grown, I'm going to stop walking her, too. Been there and have the scars on my elbows to prove it. We have always owned our dogs in matched sets, and walking them is often like being towed along behind the motorboat after you've fallen off the waterskis. Even when I was young and reasonably fit they could still catch me off guard, like the time I was out with them and met our S4 officer, a lyin' sack of excrement known to all and sundry as Lieutenant NumbNuts, a nickname he worked long and hard to attain. The dogs split -- one went left, one went right, and I wound up hugging the man to my breast like a long lost rich relative. There were witnesses).

Anyway, the routine is that Funnyface will yip, wait a few minutes, yip again, wait a few minutes, etcetera until he finally gets his walk. The other evening the alpha male was a little slower on the uptake than usual, so Funnyface excused himself and came back with one of the man's running shoes in his jaws.

If that's not a hint, I don't know what is.

Oh, and the SU wants me to correct the previous post. The fence is only four feet tall. That doesn't give me a warm fuzzy.