A few months ago, one of our upstairs neighbors told us a story about a dog who lived in our building thirty or forty years back; I didn’t believe it, until another of our upstairs neighbors told us the same thing, and told us that it was her dog.

Apparently, when her Yorkshire Terrier needed to go for a walk, she’d call the elevator, press the first floor button once it arrived, and then let her dog ride down alone. From there, the dog would walk past the doorman, down the front steps, and over to Broadway, where he’d walk himself down to 79th street, over to West End Avenue, then back up towards home.

When he arrived back at the building, he’d patiently wait next to the doorman’s desk, until somebody led him back to the elevator, and pressed the twelfth floor button to send him up.

Very convenient.