Several months ago, I wrote about Orly’s delight in the freedom her dog door gave her. Though I would revoke her privileges if she abused them by barking at our neighbors, she spent most of the summer free to come and go and come and go and come and go, in and out all day and until late in the evening.

She would frequently check the digging pit to see whether the Sand Fairy had returned (she usually hadn’t) to hide new treats; verify that she had, indeed, eaten all of the ripe raspberries and cherry tomatoes within reach (she had); and roll happily in the too-long grass.

But as summers do, the summer turned more and more autumnal. This happens more quickly in Montana than in many places, with very chilly evenings and mornings starting in August.

Orly’s dog door is in our screen door, and with the colder weather, the dog door was less and less available until it disappeared completely, with the back door remaining firmly closed and her door person permanently, though not terribly reliably, back on the job.

Though she loves fall and is eager for the snow, she is not pleased about losing her free access to the back yard. She’s still unwilling to consider the compromise I have offered — the doggy doorbell. Maybe she thinks that’s just for puppies.

In any case, she has taken to nudging me to ask to go out, which is fine. She’ll even come upstairs to my office to ask for door person service.

Coming back in is where we disagree. Her latest approach is a loud thwack! on the window. I have a pattern of muddy paw prints on my recently washed windows as a result, and I worry that she could hit the window hard enough to break it.

My current challenge: Figuring out how to convince her that sophisticated grown-up dogs can use bells to summon their servants and gain access to the outside. Or inside. Without beating up on the windows.