Now this could be anything, and if I don’t immediately start throwing something they’ll go find something for me to fetch. Jake will usually bring a stick or a tennis ball, but Buster has a fondness for Maggie’s gardening tools, or her gloves, and once a pair of her favorite shoes.

We still don’t know how he got them out of the house and into the backyard but this little maneuver earned him a name change, so now, to Maggie at least, his name is Busted.

Okay, so the door is open.

A black and yellow hurricane is now enveloping the living room and is migrating into the kitchen as they both do their thing, which is the fetch-toy game. So while I’m saying, “Where’s the fetch toy, where’s the fetch toy?” they are frantically searching for anything that will fit their idea of a toy and, in the midst of this chaos, I’m fighting my way over to the pantry to get the dog food.

The sight of me emerging with the 30-lb bag of Purina Dog Chow suddenly shifts their focus from the exuberant “Yay, daddy’s home! Let’s play” to “It’s supper time!”

As I open the back porch door, they are out like a streak and soon devouring two large bowls of dinner, which involves some very loud snorting sounds combined with Jake’s occasional snarl if Busted, hmm, I mean Buster, gets too close to Jake’s bowl.