TBIM is out of town. He usually lets the dogs out last thing at night and they get a "cookie" when they come back in. He trained them or they trained him. You be the judge.
Stage: Dark. Quiet. Kids in slumber, house at peace. Quiet rumblings of dryer and sussurations of dishwasher.
Mama: Okay! Everybody out. Get busy!
Dogs exit stage.
Lulu: Snuffle, whuff, snort, happy dance. (Dog-ese for "I love you! Love, love, love you! Love ya, mean it! Good stuff comin'?"
George: Elegant, dignified wave of gorgeous plumage he calls a tail. ("Yes, milady, favor us with a courtesy.")
Mama (oblivious): Good dogs! Good job!
Lulu: BIG happy dance!
George: Happy shuffle.
Mama moves to stage right, the living room. Mama reclines. Dogs follow in disbelief.
Scene: Mama at ease on sofa. George resigned on floor. Lulu darting back and forth to the door in the universal code for gottago gottago GOTTA GO!
Mama: You just went out! You can't be serious. No. Uh-unh. No way.
Lulu: Squirmy wriggles.
George: Sad gaze of the betrayed.
Lulu: More squirmy wriggles. ("No, srsly, I mean it!")
Mama: Fine. But take care of business this time.
All: Hustle to the back door. Dogs exit.
George and Lu: Promptly return to door.
Mama: OOooh! I coulda had a V-8! Cookies!
Crunchings and munchings for George and Lu, tranquility at last for Mama.
OH! Except for the cat, who tried to follow my roastbeef sandwich INTO MY MOUTH. Saucy little minx.