This morning we put the cabin dock in the water. I helped immensely. Four big guys in swim trunks and high boots unloaded themselves and their tools from a noisy truck. I rounded them up, nipped at their heels, barked my best herding barks, and down they ran right into the icy lake.

I have a way of making things go faster. They were very cold and shouted all kinds of words I didn’t understand. They were probably telling me how well I rounded them up. One said the cold water turned him into a girl.

I splashed into the water after them to wade and show off my great bravery. They called you down to the dock to come and get me. You ran to me and leashed me up. My job was done. I performed quite well, I think. They helped, of course. I believe in doing my share.

Next week, most of my family including their dogs will be with us to play on the dock. Maybe it will stop raining by then. There will be lots of frogs and food and good smells. Dog, we will have a good time.

Hello, everyone. Today you and I were walking around one of Minneapolis’ wonderful, odoriferous lakes. The tree bark smelled especially slurpy. I had just been groomed and I was very clean and handsome. That usually lasts about three days. A friendly, delicious labrador, wet and muddy from the lake, bounded out of nowhere to greet us. You were twirling around trying to keep him away because he was not on a leash and you had just paid a lot of green stuff to the kind person who grooms me.

From far away a woman called his name. She looked like she was pushing a stroller. You hurried toward her to help, and we both saw she wasn’t pushing a stroller at all. In fact, she was pushing a knee caddy, the kind you had in December when you broke your foot. She was out of control and her dog was out of control and it was a very bad thing. Suddenly, her knee caddy slipped out from under her, and she toppled over. Right on the gravel. Her dog pounced on her and sniffed and licked her until she grabbed her long Chuck-it with the ball in it and whacked her dog a few times on his back.

I felt very sad. So did you. We hurried to help, but she had already righted herself and gotten her caddy, dog, Chuck-it, and herself into the car. You talked to her through her car window. She was crying. Her face looked squinched up. She said she’d had a very bad day.

You get upset with me when I steal socks and shoes, but you have never ever hit me, especially with an instrument of torture. You get particularly mad at me when I turn down your bed. I will admit that my service is not at neat as it could be. After you have made the bed so nicely, I like to put my stamp of approval on it. I toss your pillows around and pull your bedding down just like I have seen in the hotels we stop in on our way to California. I am an amazing dog, quick as lightning.

Oliver’s Advice: You aren’t perfect, but thank you for not hitting me no matter how naughty I am.

I happen to know you go places where
people bring dogs, but you don’t bring me.
I know this because you just took a photograph
of a Pomeranian named Gracie Bear
with black fur and a red leash
who seemed to be drinking beer at a burger joint.
She was sitting right up on the lap of some blonde
getting ready to imbibe.
I’m not asking to sit on your lap.
I’m too big for that.
I know how to lie under a table quietly.
I’m not asking for beer.
I know better. Alcohol is a depressant.
I’m not asking you to be blonde.
I like you the way you are.
I’m asking you to leave your bicycle home
and take me to dinner.
How about it?

Advice from Oliver: Take me with you,
especially if you sit outside. I am at least as cute as Gracie Bear.

We have a new baby. She is very small.  At first, her parents wouldn’t let me near her. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’m very big, at least compared to her. I happen to know big is relative. I’m really only medium-large. At Occidental College, where I was working the other day, giving therapy to college students, an Irish Wolfhound strolled in. He was dog-normous–three feet tall, weighing in at 160 pounds.  He told us he was a champion racer. I’d like to race him even though I’m only about nineteen and a half inches tall, weighing in at 46 pounds. The difference between a wolf and a sheep is that wolves are sneaky and sheep are not. I can be sneaky too.

Back to our baby. Her parents, your children, are extra careful with her, the way brand new parents are. I feel sad when I can’t play with her, so I hope she grows bigger fast so I can sniff her and steal her treats when she isn’t looking. I told you how much I wanted to be close to the baby, so I barked when you shut me out of her house. I jumped up on her daddy when he came to visit. I got close enough to sniff her all over. She was delicious! That did not advance my cause. I put my front paws down and waited patiently until I could kiss her. The days stretched into weeks. I was on lockdown. I felt very sad.

But our patience paid off. You took the new baby for a walk and let me walk right next to her. Dog, did I love that!  Everyone stared at us and smiled. I walked right next to her stroller. I did not pull on either side to sniff even though the boulevard trees were odoriferous. I watched the street carefully on all sides  and at corners for anything unusual. I was such a good boy. I can learn how to behave if you help me learn. I will be an outstanding babysitter.

Oliver’s advice: Have faith in dogs. Teach them well with lots of encouragement. They will learn.