“And I don't know who you're calling little."I knew one way to solve this argument. I carefully tore the whole article out of the front page, then rolled up the newspaper and slid the rubber band back on. "Doofus," I whispered. Poor Doofus, behind us in the mud room, stood up in a rush of jingling dog tags and slobber. I slipped the paper into his mouth and whispered, "Take this to Dad."Doofus wagged his tail and trotted into the kitchen. We heard Dad say, "Did you bring me the paper? Good dog. Wait a minute. Bad dog!”

“Snowfall—funny name for a ski resort town, at least the falling part. It made me worry I would take my dog for a walk one afternoon and slip into an icy crevice, never to be heard from again. The only evidence that I’d ever existed would be Doofus the Irish setter, trotting happily home, dragging his leash.”

“Did he want Nick to die on the floor of his bathroom from an overdose of mentholated rub? Did he want me to spend the last eighty years of my lifespan in a convent? Maybe he was mad that I was trying to sneak out of the house wearing his jeans for the third day in a row."I am taking Doofus for another walk," I said clearly,daring him to defy me."That would not be good for Doofus." Josh folded his arms. "Mom,that would not be good for Doofus."Oh! Dragging Mom into this was low.Not to mention Doofus."Since when is going for a walk not good for a dog?" I challenged Josh."He's an old dog," Josh protested."He's four!" I pointed out."That's twenty-eight in dog years! He's practically thirty!""Strike!" Mom squealed amid the noise of electronic pins falling. Then she shook her game remote at both of us in turn. "I'm not stupid, you know.And I'm not as out of it as you assume. I know the two of you are really arguing about something else.It's those jeans again, isn't it?" She nodded to me. "I should cut them in half and give each of you a leg.Why does either of you want to wear jeans with 'boy toy' written across the seat anyway?""I thought that was the fashion." Josh said. "Grandma wears a pair of sweatpants with 'hot mama' written across the ass.""That is different," Mom hissed. "She wears them around the kitchen."I sniffed indignantly. "I said," I announced, "I am goig for a walk with my dog. My beloved canine and I are taking a turn around our fair community. No activity could be more wholesome for a young girl and her pet. And if you have a problem with that,well! What is this world coming to? Come along, dear Doofus." I stuck my nose in the air and stalked past them, but the effect was lost. Somewhere around "our fair community," Mom and Josh both had lost interest and turned back to the TV.Or so I thought.But just as I was about to step outside,hosh appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the mud room. "What the hell are you doing" he demanded.I said self-righteously, "I am taking my loyal canine for a w-""You're going to Nick's,aren't you?" he whispered. "Do you think that's a good idea? I heard you yelled at him for no reason at the half-pipe,right before he busted ass.”

“She blinked. "Hmm? Oh, don't care. What did Anubis look like to you?""What did... he looked like a guy. So?""A good-looking guy, or a slobbering dog-headed guy?""I guess... Not the dog-headed guy.""I knew it!" Sadie pointed at me as if she'd won an argument."Good-looking. I knew it!"And with a ridiculous grin, she spun around and skipped into the house. My sister, as I may have mentioned, is a little strange.”

“Don't try to change Doofus, let Doofus change you.”

“our moral reasoning is plagued by two illusions. The first illusion can be called the wag-the-dog illusion: We believe that our own moral judgment (the dog) is driven by our own moral reasoning (the tail). The second illusion can be called the wag-theother-dog's-tail illusion: In a moral argument, we expect the successful rebuttal of an opponent's arguments to change the opponent's mind. Such a belief is like thinking that forcing a dog's tail to wag by moving it with your hand will make the dog happy.”