Frosty with a chance of quips

My dog, a gorgeous but ultra-fuzzy and shedding mix of Husky and Golden Retriever/Yellow Lab, has an annoying habit of getting between people and their destinations, like spreading out in the narrowest part of kitchen to make it hard to walk over her, or shuffling very slowly in front of you as you're trying to move somewhere. I call it dogeometry, the art of calculating the minimum effort on her part to cause the most disruption to everyone else. (She could be part cat, I suppose.) The other day, my husband commented that we should nickname her Visa. When I asked him why, he said, "Because she's everywhere you want to be."

Just tonight, the Emperor, in a fit of pique at me daring to enforce his bedtime (same thing I do every night, Pinky), declared, "Well then, when I'm President, you're still going to have to pay taxes!" He was not mollified when I informed him that I'd be doing that anyway. (He's also not old enough to be told that if he were governor of our fine state of Illinois, with its proud history of corruption, it would take minimum effort to ensure we wouldn't pay taxes.)