D.O.P.-T.

Chilly in the house. The dog has been sacked out on my bed all evening.

A letter had been misdelivered to us, so I padded up the block, almost to the end, to pop it in the correct mailbox, getting profusely barked at by the resident dog, which sounded big and mean enough to devour me. Then I walked our dog before it got cold. She surprised me by giving herself a workout: she headed up the block and didn't stop. The bark alarm failed to go off in that house; maybe they were also on walkies. I headed our dog across the street and came back on the other side so as to not push our luck or, looking at it another way, annoy all the dogs on the entire block.

When we came back, Monty took evasive action. I fed the compost monster and he emerged and looked at me meaningfully, then headed over the side gate to our back garden. After coming back in, I checked back there to see whether he wanted to be fed—and apparently walked right past him lurking in the back porch room, because he came running out and gave me a look. So I provided food, which he deigned to eat. After hissing at me.