Easy enough not to use the back door when there is a chair that holds magazines in front of it. This chair is tricky to move without spilling magazines onto the floor, which means having to bend down to pick stuff up, and which also involves the inevitable pause to wonder why magazines are stored upon a chair. But worse, following extravagant seasonal out door excursions, bending down to do anything has to be negotiated according to a set of priorities, and picking up magazines is down there with the clean socks or anything the wind hasn't yet had it's chance to blow away.
And I guess there should be a chair on the other side of the back door, holding perhaps light bulbs, so that after a spell in the outdoors there is upon return to the domicile yet another reason not to use the back door. This way perhaps a person wouldn't have to use valuable bending down time to pick up unnecessarily. However the act of picking up magazines from the floor is, in and of itself, so daunting a prospect that it serves as what some might call an "Aid Memoire." Which, if you are a smart arse is an irritating way of saying "A Reminder." But which in the annals of diplomacy is a contribution, or prelude to negotiation. A sort of list of things to be discussed in the coming game of chess, rather than a document you signed containing your terms of surrender to Nesting Carolina Wren, one of which was never to use the back door until maybe the middle of May, on the off chance a glove box becomes a primary nesting site.