Here's how evenings go at our house:
I get home around 4:30 or so. Katie, the lab, is waiting at the door as I enter with an "Oh, it's you" look on her face. She immediately wants to go outside to pee.
She then sleeps for two hours on the top step of the stairs leading to the basement. If I encounter her as I go up the steps, she's up in a flash and stands at the back door, wanting to go outside ("I just let you out!"). If I encounter her as I go down the stairs, she just lays there, forcing me to gingerly step over her. Even with a toe-nudge she won't move.
Then . . . at precisely 6:30 p.m. she comes and starts poking me with her wet nose. You see, it's time to go play. She knows that word. If you want to give Katie whiplash, just say the word "play" in her presence. She'll spin around and stare you down, expecting you to go outside immediately and squirt the living daylights out of her with the hose.
