A little exasperated, you look around, analyzing the situation.  Finally, you give a huff and say, "Well, hell, Zorro!  I blame you for this mess." It makes you feel much better to place some blame, even though Zorro really had little to do with the matter, since he is a dog.  Zorro looks mournfully up at you. "I guess we'll have to wait it out."  You plop yourself down on a stack of boxes and pout.

Two and a half hours later, the rain has brazenly ceased to cease.  You decide to take a stand against this foolishness: how dare that rain keep you cooped up in your garage!

"C'mon Zorro!  We're bustin' outta here!"  Zorro looks mournful again. You grab the spare leash hanging on the wall and clip it onto your faithful canine.  "We're going next door to knock on Mrs. Rumple's door and use her telephone!"  It's a brilliant plan, if you do say so yourself.

Zorro looks up at you again, as if to say, "What if Mrs. Rumple isn't home?"

"Oh, she'll be home, boy.  Don't you worry." You say, with an astounding amount of confidence.  As an after-thought, you add with a shrug, "If not, we'll find a pay phone."

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