"The last pet-in-dorm incident that I know about involves my own basset hound, who discovered in her youth that in weekends (and exactly how does a basset hound know about Saturday?) fraternity houses were fascinating places. Besides lots of people who would scratch your ears, there were lots of plastic cups on the floor containing a delicious liquid, and just big enough to get your nose down into. Inexplicably, this seemed funny to the people around. Well, in the interests of economy and convenience, they started putting saucers of beer out for her. And she would make the rounds of the fraternity houses, of which at the time there were nine. By the end of the evening she was pretty well tanked, which had an unfortunate effect the next day; I can authoritatively sat you have never seen anything sad if you have never seen a basset hound with a hangover. One snowy evening she wound up at the Akpha Chi Sigma house, where she was well known. These were good friends, and when the party broke up at 1:30 or so, she happily followed a group of three back to fourth-passage Cushing, where they lived on the fourth floor. They weren't paying too much attention until they got in a fourth-floor room and noticed continued wagging. It was too late and snowy to do anything about her, so they just hit the sack and turned out the lights. She curled up on the rug. At about 5 in the morning she felt a strong need to go outside. A very strong need. She nuzzled a hand or two, but nobody was budging. So she began to bay, which somewhat resembles bagpipe music in being both eerie and very loud. In no time, every resident of fourth passage was on the fourth floor, and a vigorious debate was occurring. I was told later that many wanted to throw her out the fourth-floor window immediately, while others wanted somebody (not them) to take her down to the front door. On Monday I was told that the vote for the front door had won 9-8."