Some years ago, William and I were walking on Warren Street at the end of the workday. It was "happy hour," and as we passed a favorite watering hole, I waved to a group of people I knew who were seated at a table by the window. They beckoned me to come in and join them, but I indicated I couldn't because I had William with me, and it was well known that William, my Velcro dog, didn't do well being left alone on the street, tied to a parking meter. One of my friends came out and encouraged me to bring William in with me, and so I did.
During the time it took to drink a very leisurely glass of wine, William lay quietly at my feet, out of sight under the table. Shortly before we were ready to leave, a man sitting opposite me at an adjourning table got up and left, taking his dog--a big dog like William--with him. That dog and William had been lying under the tables together, practically nose to nose, and there had been not a sound out of either of them.