My son and his wife host a monthly gathering in their home for the main purpose of assembling, collating, and addressing the monthly newsletter of a club of which they are members. To entice workers, Ursula puts on a gourmet feast that is served in advance of the newsletter assembly work. Last month, I was a participant.
A new member was expected that evening. Most of the regulars just walk in, so when my son Alan heard the doorbell, he knew it was the new member. He opened the door, but before he could offer his hand in welcome, the woman's dog raced in and began to greet guests with tongue-dripping exuberance.
Members don't normally bring their pets, but she was new and couldn't be expected to know the protocol. As this new member, Sally, was introduced around the room, the pooch also walked around, tail wagging, making acquaintances.
Later, as I approached the buffet counter, Alan was introducing Sally to the self-serve offerings. Of course, the dog's unerring nose had sniffed out the beefy odors.
"Should we give your dog something to eat or some water?" Alan asked.
Sally's mouth opened. She seemed aghast. Looking at the dog and then to Alan, she said: "She's not my dog. I thought she was yours."
Evidently the canine visitor had taken advantage of the open door. The dog was dispatched - with a bowl of water and a bone - to the backyard until we found her owner, living in the next block.
At least the episode provided the newsletter editor with a story for the next issue.