Honoring the Neighbors" Basset Hound - Social Q's My otherwise-sensible neighbors sent me an invitation to a funeral for their 12-year-old basset hound. They are going to bury the dog in the backyard and say a few words in its honor. They have no children, so this event is not to humor them. I had no relationship with the dog. What would make adults hold such a foolish affair? And how do I get out of it? H. L., Westport, Conn. As I type this, I am gazing at an 8-year-old poodle that means more to me than 97 percent of the people in my Rolodex. And that's being generous to the Rolodex. But you're right: a funeral for a dog is unusual. So why not be a mensch and go? We develop all kinds of offbeat relationships in our increasingly cyber lives: with pets and sweaters and shops around the corner, anything that's real, and that we can touch (aside from our central relationship with touch-screen smartphones). Their loss is something we mourn. So what's the harm in a teary toast to a departed basset hound, or honoring your neighbors" affection for him? Especially if they have the good sense to hand out chilly glasses of Sancerre along with memorial cards to Spot. If you simply can't squeeze yourself into your neighbors" shoes, feign sympathy and claim another engagement. Be sure to be away from home at the appointed hour. But don't come crying to us when your neighbors neglect to take in your mail during your next vacation. Perils of Networking I accidentally sent LinkedIn invitations to every person in my address book. I feel awkward that I reached out to people I barely know and cringe at the thought that I've asked to connect with acquaintances I don't especially care for. Should I send a mass follow-up e-mail explaining my error? Cathy, Larchmont, N.Y. Let she who is without sin cast the first stone. I promise you are not the first person to make this error (or accidentally press "reply all" on the cattiest e-mail ever written about a boss). Don't be too hard on yourself. And don't send a mass retraction, either. The folks who don't know you well enough will ignore the request. As for the others, I'd rather mistakenly believe that someone wants to connect with me than have him rub my nose in the fact that my invitation resulted from a typing error. Plus, haven't most of us spammed people with LinkedIn invitations by now? Fire Extinguisher? My best friend (since we were 16) came to visit. I encouraged her to text an old flame, and we met up with him and another guy. I took the role of wingwoman and tried to make sure everyone had a good time. Maybe I tried too hard. Since then, my friend won't speak to me. She said I was "showboating" and prevented her from rekindling the romance. That was never my intention. The wingman walks a razor's edge: ingratiating enough to make pals seem appealing, but retreating at the first whiff of Barry White - so they can seal their sexy deals on their own. Perhaps you took up too much oxygen. Or maybe your friend needed a convenient whipping girl. We'll never know, and it doesn't really matter. The important thing is to let her know you share her disappointment. "I'm sorry your old flame didn't go all Mickey Rourke in "9 1/2 Weeks," and even sorrier that you think it's my fault. I was only trying to help. Then invite her back to town, and let her fly solo with the old beau. It probably won't go any better, but at least she'll know you're in her corner. Cost Conscious Every time I take my wife to dinner, she ends up asking how much it cost. I tell her that, as a gentleman, the answer is between me and our waiter. She then becomes upset and says: "I'm your wife and have the right to know." Who is correct? Is chivalry dead? Anri, White Plains Chivalry is not dead, though we've all seen cases when it looked to be on life support. Joint bank accounts, on the other hand, are thriving. And most married couples pool their money. So those veal medallions are probably cutting into her net worth, too. Next time, say: "I would love to shield you from the filthy hand of commerce." But if she insists, simply pick up your cloak from the muddy sidewalk, Sir Walter Raleigh, and tell her how much those vittles set you back.