Me: I call this meeting to order, gentlemen. We have one item on the agenda.
Buddy: Is it food?
Henry: Wait — there’s food?
Buddy: Where? Where is there food?
Eddie: Shut up so she can talk about the food, idiots!
Me: No. Or Yes. Um…well, sort of. It’s about mice.
Dogs: [team head tilt]
Me: You’ve noticed them, yes? The ones that appear to have taken up residence in the kitchen?
Dogs: Suuuuurrre…I mean, it’s kind of hard to miss them.
Me: Why are there still mice in the kitchen?
Buddy: Ooooh! I know! I know!
Me: Yes, Buddy?
Buddy: Because there’s food in the kitchen! Right? Right?
Me: *sigh* Well, yes, but that’s not quite what I’m getting at. Eddie, what kind of dog are all three of you?
Eddie: I am a terrier. The other two are allegedly terriers, but mostly they seem to be neurotic dingbats.
Me: …Close enough. What do terriers do, guys?
Henry: I mostly eat, sleep, and look for things to be anxious about and/or to roll in.
Me: Yes, but what, in general, is the function of a terrier?
Eddie: If this is going to turn into another lecture on Aristotle or something, can we at least have a cookie first?
Me: Terriers are supposed to kill things like rats, mice, etc. You know, vermin. They “go to ground” to do so, following the vermin into its den, which is why they are called “earth dogs” (Terriers).
Buddy: (whispers) I don’t see any cookies, Ed.
Me: Guys, why haven’t you killed the mice? I mean, you’re supposed to be good at this stuff. You seem interested enough in it. What’s going on?
Eddie: (shrugs) There’s no earth in the house. The mice are hiding in the woodwork. Our union rules say no woodwork. Earthdogs go to earth, not to flooring, drywall, water, carpet, concrete, laminate, or anything like that. Didn’t you read the contract?
Me: The what now?