Just as exciting as my Thursday nights get anymore

My dog is afraid of vents. Being that we have an old house, they're big, dusty, produce no real, warm air at all and return no cold air that I'm aware of (because it's all sitting right here on this blue chair) and are found around the perimeter of each room. Some are on the wall (heat vents), some are on the floor (alleged cold-air returns) -- he does not like either.

I do not like playing fetch for 45 minutes. Call me lazy, mean or just plain evil. But no. Mr. Big, I have thrown my last rope toy this hour, I said somewhere around Toss No. 582. And, because I'm plain evil, I threw it on top of the alleged cold-air return, right in the middle of the three-foot by one-foot rectangle. Because I could (read in that impending-doom voice of movie announcers).

He stood there, willing it to be blasted by a return of the returned air, back off the vent and into the safety of his carpeted world. And, again, being evil, I giggled as he then sat and watched his rope toy sit on the vent for about 45 seconds. It was the best 45 seconds of my night.

(And, before you start to think I've mistreated this dog by withholding from him another minute of my Thursday night game of toss-the-rope-across-the-dining-room, I did go get it from the vent. For the record.)