People I have met since starting this column seem to be incredulous when I write about my dogs. Some wonder how I have kept my sanity, others wonder if I exaggerate my stories.

Quite the opposite, I usually keep the crazier ones to myself.

Well, just recently I was at an event where I was talking about some of the antics when it was suggested that this would make a wonderful article.

Being a Black Belt in the art of Procrastination, I agreed.

So grab a Cup of Joe and let me recount a couple of the stories of my dogs.

Jada, Bernie, Bill, and Roswell are not the first dogs I have owned (or maybe they own me?) since I have gotten married.

Before that was a Pembroke Welsh Corgi named Foxy and a Yorkie Mix named Max.

They were a hoot.

One of the stories involves just Max. Now, this was about 2002, or 2003. The internet was very young then, and it was not uncommon for you to sign up for something and end up on a mailing list.

I believe I was looking for pet insurance; the site I went to had me fill out all the information. Somehow I got Max’s name and my name listed backward on the form.

So it was a surprise when a while later, not only did I receive a sales call, I received a sales letter.

Max was preapproved for a credit card.

I tried to explain to the salesman that Max was a Yorkie, but I don’t think he quite believed me.

I still get the occasional card offer for him.

Another story involved both Foxy and Max. I was sitting on the bed eating a sandwich. I have simple tastes, so it was a bologna and mayo sandwich. With those two, I had to eat fast, because they would pounce.

Foxy attacked first. I was able to move my sandwich away in time, only to have Max take a bite out of my sandwich. In surprise, I moved the sandwich again, only to lose the rest of it to a cunning Corgi.

I guess its true about dogs hunting in packs.

Finally, the other tale is about a few days ago and Bernie.

Bernie is a 60-plus pound ball of fur, love, and not much in the way of brains. I love him, but he isn’t too bright.

Well, I was on the phone and of course, Bernie comes over and tries to jump on me. His favorite activities are pets and food. Not sure about the order though.

Well, as I was trying to get a quote for a truck tune-up, he was jumping up on his hind legs to get his head scratched.

I called out, “Sit Bernard!”

The mechanic asked what I said, “I said I was talking to my dog.”

He asked if I had Saint Bernard. I was starting to correct him, but Bernie was at it again.

So, I merely said, “Yes, I have a Sit Bernard.”

 

Michael Cole is a syndicated columnist that when he is not writing, he is plotting global domination. You can follow him at www.storyoveracup.com