Years ago, when my husband decided it was time to replace the flooring in the kitchen, he decided at the same time that he would lay the same floor throughout the hall leading to the laundry room from the kitchen. We had chosen a large, dark ceramic tile; midnight blue with black markings. It's the kind of colourization that our two little black puppies seem to melt into.

They're not particularly photogenic at the best of times, given their black coat, but when they're on the kitchen floor -- or by extension, the floor in the laundry room-cum mud-room, they're often difficult to notice, they blend in so well.

And then there's the issue of their habit of following us about. If one of us has a reason to enter the laundry room, with its door leading to the garage, and another to the side of the house, we occasionally fail to notice that they're directly behind us. And when, automatically closing the door shutting off the laundry room which, with its direct proximity to the garage can tend to be cooler in the winter than the rest of the house, we fail to notice one of them has lingered behind; so either one of them can get shut in. Or out, as it happens.

And that's what happened this morning. We had decided it was past time for both to have their nails clipped. Jillie happened to be handy, and Jackie was nowhere to be seen. I held Jillie in my lap while my husband took up her paws, one after the other, to snip her nails, while she struggled. Neither are amenable to having their paws handled, let alone their nails cut.

I heard Jackie barking, but he often does that when he wants to attract Jillie's attention to have a good run-about in the house, so I paid no particular mind to it. But soon I called him, wondering where he was, since he's never far for any length of time from wherever we happen to be, and there was no response. Sure enough, he had barked to alert us that he was locked out.

And when it was his turn to have his nails clipped, he was even less cooperative than his sister, little imps. You'd think we were amputating their paws, not manicuring their nails, terrorizing the little beggars, although by now you'd also think they'd have accustomed themselves to the routine of the process. On the other hand, our other two little poodles had the very same objections, and were no more helpful when having their paws groomed than their successors.