I fished for my phone, digging deep into my pants pocket. I expected it was Carol inquiring when I would be home and was surprised to find it was my son, Ted.

“We’re going for a W-A-L-K,” he said, spelling out the word. “Do you want to join us?”

I instantly got a picture of what was happening. Nash, their Cavalier, must have been in earshot and Ted didn’t want to get it overly excited. The dog basically has two dispositions: high-speed excitement that involves racing around, tail flying and high pitched barks and total submission. His submission mode is endearing especially after cozying up and he falls blissfully asleep in your lap.

A bark confirmed that indeed Nash was close by. Had he learned to spell? Had he deciphered what Ted was suggesting? Was he getting hyped up for a walk?

I didn’t ask. After all, the walk was meant to be a secret. It was best to keep it that way.

How might Nash react after believing he was going for a walk to be stuck at home for the afternoon? This could have psychological repercussions, right?

Don’t laugh, but it has come to that.

No doubt dogs are smart. Ted will tell you that Nash not only knows the household routine plus a slew of commands but also can manipulate the family to get what he wants. Nash is hardly the exception.

Ollie is good at it, too. Thankfully, we’re spared the high-pitched barks, but there’s no mistaking what his devoted attention at dinner is all about. He knows better than to blatantly beg. Rather, he’ll sit at a respectful distance from the table, his eyes following the movement of fork to mouth. Carol and I won’t pay any attention and he’ll lie down, forelegs stretched straight and his head raised like the sphinx. It’s only when he starts drooling that I take action, calling him to my side so I can catch it before it reaches the carpet. By then it’s over. I know the drool won’t stop until the meal is over and he’s licked the plates.

When it comes to his dinner, Carol purposely avoids using the word.

“Do you think it’s time yet?” she’ll ask. I’ll look over at Ollie to see if he’s following our conversation. If he knows what we’re talking about, he’s good at hiding it.

Carol uses the word “dinner” judiciously. It’s pretty much erased from our vocabulary except for those times we’re going to get Ollie’s attention.

“Dinner time,” she’ll shout out the back door. It works if Ollie isn’t glued to tracking down a scent. He’ll appear ready to be ushered in for a bowl of kibble. We’re reasonably certain Ollie learned the word chicken, so we took to spelling that out until we wondered if he figured out “would you like C-H-I-C-K-E-N tonight?”

Chicken is Ollie’s favorite. I swear he’ll start drooling at the mention of the word. So such meals are talked about using code like, “Would you like it breaded or grilled?”

I never made the walk with Ted, my granddaughters and Nash. I’m sure Nash was in his hyper mode, charging ahead, racing back and announcing his excitement, and no question Ted will spell out the word if the dog is nearby when he gives me the report. He wouldn’t want Nash to think they were heading out for a walk and not deliver.

And I’ll be sure to warn Ted not to leave the Beacon lying around, least Nash and Ollie read that we’ve caught on to them.