The dogs give me funny looks when I order them outside. I've found the best way to get them out is to open the door and squeak "Cat!" And then I get trampled in the stampede. Polly charges out like a champion and silently patrols the yard. Snowy fluffs up, and does a stiff-legged bounce around the garden, yodelling and chuffing like an idiot and alerting all the cats in the yard that there is a Big Dog on patrol.
I can't call them in, but if I rustle a cellophane bag to imitate opening a pack of Schmackos dried liver strip treaties, I get their attention. The down side is a pair of dogs drooling enough to make Dr. Pavlov happy.
It's taken a week, but I'm over it.