“It’s time to renovate!”

“Okay, Aussie. The kitchen, right? We had the floor redone 7 years ago, but the cabinets are old.”

“Not the kitchen.”

“The living room? Looks fine to me. Upstairs? Bathrooms are okay, though the faucets drip sometimes. The fan outside in back that’s connected to the furnace could be replaced, but I—”

“Forget that. We’re tearing down your office and making it into a ballroom.”

“A ballroom? What do we need a ballroom for?”

“A ballroom for dogs. I’ve got the plans. It’ll occupy your office and half the living room, and go out as far back as the laundry lines. In fact, we can take down the laundry lines now that winter’s coming.”

“Why do we need something that big for just you and Henry?”

“The Illegal Chihuahua will help build it and then we’ll deport him. Don’t forget, we’re changing all canine visa requirements. The ones we want to come here are Golden Retrievers and Yellow Labs. Maybe five Shelties for diversity’s sake.”

“What about German Shepherds? Aussie, fifty percent of you is German Shepherd.”

“Fake news. Anyone with good eyesight can see I’m a Golden.”

“Why do you need a ballroom? You and Henry have dog doors that let you, whenever you want, go out into the big yard in back, lie in the sun, roll over on the dry leaves and chase varmints.”

“We need a ballroom for American dogs. That means big. Walls and floor of hickory for protection against all the typhoons and tsunamis that we get here—”

“We do?”

“Solar panels—”

“I thought you didn’t believe in climate change, Auss!”

“—to power the heat and air-conditioning, and a porch that goes around three sides to watch for terrorist raccoons from Venezuela.”

“Windows?”

“Naah, we need our sleep. Goldens are notorious for how much they sleep.”

“Aussie, you are not a Golden!”

“I’ve been photoshopped!”

“How could you be photoshopped in real life?”

“As for furnishings: Three plush dog sofas and four orthopedic, fur-lined beds—but no water beds, that’s for Libs and motels. Also, Mellow Joe Pillow for my sleep. All food and water bowls should be pure gold with the label: The Man’s Best Friend. Lots and lots of golden chandeliers.”

“Because you plan to read as much as your President, right?”

“Now, for the game section: a Nancy Pelosi dog toy for heavy chewers, a Mamdani Teether, a red and blue seesaw for agility contests with Elmer’s Glue on the blue part, and a dead-end dog tunnel for Illegal. Maybe a burglar alarm.”

“Aussie, you were always our burglar alarm.”

“I’m done working for nothing. As for food, none of that tofu business, but lots of ethnic choices: rib steak, sirloin steak, flank steak, tenderloin steak, filet mignon, New York Strip, and—”

“Forget it, Aussie, all this is going to eat me out of house and home.”

“I was going to talk to you about that. We will probably need a second floor, so you and Lori may need to move in together.”

“Aussie, I like this house as it is. It has a history around Bernie and me, previous generations of dogs, the many people from different countries who came here, the gatherings and celebrations.”

“History is so dated! Oh, and don’t forget: lots and lots of golden balls. It can’t be called a ballroom for nothing.”