When I had the housewarming last weekend, the animal lovers gave me one of two looks (depending on which they thought would work--and both usually do because I was raised on guilt).
Step One, they give me the puppy dog eyes. "Aw, just let him out for a minute."
Step Two, they add a little "experienced" judgement to the look and suggest that they can handle it.
Ha! So I bow to the request (the guest is always right) and release the hound.
I endure long, long moments of dread and stress (felt like hours), broken up by a few brief seconds of him behaving like a well-trained seal (which he is not). Those moments are sweet (and I'll keep them in my memory banks for when he chews another piece of electronics), but cannot compensate for that five-second spasm where he and his pet (uh, I mean friend) chase each other across the deck like the heathen they are and wipe out one of my friends, knocking the back of her knees and sending her perilously close to falling onto the deck (and likely getting trampled under their energetic paws). She hugs the deck rail, I come through with a hand to pull her upright before relegating the neurotic dog to the dungeon (aka the kennel).
This morning, he sat beside my chair as I drank my morning coffee, head held like a regal knight at the king's right hand, and acted as though he was born the most dignified and circumspect dog in history. I am not fooled.