To help decorate our younger daughter’s new apartment, my husband and I offered any item in our basement. She took a painting. A few days later, she phoned to say that she had researched the artist, and his work averages $11,000 at auction.  We had no idea! Now she plans to sell the painting. Our older daughter is upset and has urged her to return it. My husband and I have remained silent. What should we do?  It’s just like that song by Irving Berlin: “Lord help the mister who comes between me and my sister, and Lord help the sister who comes between me and my Man(et)!”  We all know clans who have waged the Wars of Inheritance. And while their squabbles over the silver service may look mercenary from the outside, to the family, all that stuff represents love and acceptance — not to mention cold, hard cash.  So take the bull by the horns (and the painting by the frame) and speak to your girls. Try: “We had no idea the painting was so valuable. You’re welcome to hang it at your place, Susie, but you may not skip off to Sotheby’s with it.”  From the sound of it, both daughters could use a gentle reminder that their parents are still alive — thank you very much! — and they needn’t worry about Mommy’s and Daddy’s assets until the day you keel over. Assure them that you will be fair with them, and with any other children or charities close to your hearts.  Then get some estate-planning advice — and an appraiser into that basement!  A friend is having terrific success in a career that is beneath her intellect and doing more harm than good to society. Worse, she revels in others’ misfortunes when it translates to an opportunity for her employer. She doesn’t seem aware of her personality change. May I express my misgivings?  Problem is, careers in the Mother Teresa trade are not terribly lucrative. So we start walking down a rent-paying road, and the next thing you know, we’re the chairman of Goldman Sachs, doing “God’s work” and making friends queasy with our good fortune (and indoor swimming pool).  But even ugly jobs need someone to do them. So, just how is your pal “reveling” in others’ misfortune? If she’s a foreclosure agent, gleefully tossing people out of their homes, chime in, “Wow, Janie, you’re enjoying this too much.”  If she’s an editor for TMZ, poring over failed romances of movie stars and pro athletes, let it slide. She’s more likely to pick up the tab that way.  Mind It? I Certainly Do  Am I wrong to blanch when strangers in coffee shops ask me to watch their laptops while they step away? When I say I am uncomfortable taking responsibility for their things, they are offended. Often, the favor is an opening for further conversation, and I must do my work. How do I politely turn them down?  Well, blanching seems a bit much, Blanche. Annoyed? Sure. Blood rushing from your face? Not so much.  Many times, folks just want to nip into the restroom or buy another scone without lugging their stuff or losing their seats. It doesn’t bother me, as it affords an excellent opportunity to rifle through their bags. But if minding a laptop feels like too much responsibility or unleashes a prolix Pandora from her box, just say: “Gosh, I was about to leave myself.”  Be prepared for an icy glare or stony silence when your neighbor returns and finds you still sitting there. But that’s almost what you were after in the first place, right?  Two Legs, Yes. Four, No.  I’m not sure how to handle houseguests who bring their dogs. Allergies are a factor, but we also would rather not have animals indoors. What to do?  Dogs are beasts — unless we’re speaking of mine, who is more refined than Lady Astor and better company than the Lifetime Movie Network when you’re at home with the flu.  I think most people feel this way, so tread lightly. People’s pooches are members of the family, and you don’t want to offend them with your perfectly reasonable preference. Lay it on thick with the allergies: ka-choo! For guests on extended travels, book space at your local vet — or on a featherbed at an overpriced doggie spa on which your friends will probably be all too happy to splurge.  For help with an awkward social situation, send queries to socialq@nytimes.com or Social Qâs, The New York Times Style Department, 620 Eighth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10018. Please include a daytime telephone number.
This week, answers to readersâ questions about what happens when daughters fight over heirlooms, houseguests who bring their dogs and other issues.