I am at war with Earthlink and United Parcel Service, a fiendish alliance that one would think has far greater resources at their disposal than I. The examples of their insane stupidity I have witnessed in the past week, however, prove I have nothing to worry about (although I will be wary of lurking brown vans). Rob's dear friend Richard, who was recently in an Earthlink commercial, is not stupid, but he is coming to town next month, ostensibly to be in Rob's show, but how do I know he is not an enemy spy?

In pure Presidential form, Goblin insists that they are all in league with the squirrels, against whom we should unite in an all-out attack if they do not disarm. Squads of Boston terriers are patrolling the park even as I type this, and troops are amassing at the Museum of Natural History, which has graciously allowed the Forces of Justice to use their dog run as a staging area. In the face of such martial glee, it is difficult to ascertain exactly what the squirrels are supposed to be armed with, a question that will be further muddied when the canine equivalent of Ari Fleischer appears on the scene (and muddier still when it becomes obvious that the canine equivalent of Ari Fleischer is Ari Fleischer).

All I know is something is brewing. Goblin's walk was hurried this evening, as I was in a rush to meet my friend Joe for dinner, so I decided not to put her coat on. And who should we encounter during our brief time outside but the very same woman who, on the first cold day of the winter, chided me for putting her coat on so early in the season, as if its protective powers would wear out by being invoked before the snow flew. She also let Goblin lick her teeth, a sight that did not do wonders for my digestive health.

Tonight, she assaulted us again, directing questions at my dog that she intended me to answer. "Who are you?" she asked, and when Goblin was not forthcoming with the introductions, she followed up with, "I said, what is your name?"

"Goblin," I said, looking down from the sky.

"Oh, Goblin! I've met you before! How old are you?"

"Goblin is two-and-a-half years old," I said, pointedly pulling her away.

"Oh, you're just a baby! What is your daddy thinking letting you out without a coat, huh? Where's your coat, baby?"

Neither Goblin nor I answered that one.

"I said, 'Where is your coat?' It's too cold for little girls to be running around outside without a coat!" This was directed at our backs as we beat a hasty retreat.

There is a true-life television program on Animal Planet about a precinct of police officers who deal solely with cases of animal cruelty. I forget what it is called, but I suspect there will be a spinoff featuring people who run around the streets of New York monitoring when other people's dogs are wearing their coats.

Goblin is of the opinion that this woman is a squirrel spy, a distinct possibility.

All I know for sure is that Ari Fleischer is a bitch.