When I pick up Pancake from her doggy daycare, we have to walk by a “gentlemen’s club” on our way home. I cannot figure out what it is about the place (the smell of chlorine?), but Pancake insists on stopping there each and every night. Sometimes she just rolls around on the welcome mat they have out in front, but she usually tries to go in. The blonde who’s behind the desk eating her dinner at this time always laughs and shakes her head while I drag her (that would be Pancake) away from the door. Last night, two guys who were about to go in saw Pancake literally straining at the leash in the doorway. “Come on!” one of them said to her. “You want to go in? Let’s go.” She wagged her tail vigorously, but I still insisted she come home with me, where the only dancing that’s going on is her snuggling into my lap while I watch “Fashion Police” on the DVR.