I was talking to my parents on the phone the other morning about various things, when I heard my father in the background attempting to get their new puppy out of her crate for a morning jaunt in the hopes she'd relieve herself outside rather than on the floor. "Come on," he was saying, gently. "Come on." Then, "Kathy! She won't come out! Kathy!" I mentioned to my mother that he should pick her up, which she shouted to my father, advice he ignored, and continued his little routine. "COME ON DOG! COME ON!" My mother abandoned the phone call entirely to help him out in this seemingly very difficult endeavor, and so I sighed, and hung up the phone. Later they called back, and told me proudly that Lucy had made it outside, and then followed my father down the driveway to get the paper, taking cute puppy steps, and I'm sure both admiring and fearing her ham-providing, wild-haired, clueless master.