Talking to My Dog

Oliver is the smartest dog I’ve ever met, and that’s not a simple thing.

There have always been dogs in my life. Growing up we had Ricky one, Ricky two, and Ricky three. We also had Frank and Sam and even Prince who was the first dog prior to the Ricky run.

I also had Archie, Max, Melky, Shadow and Paris. My parents had Marley, Chico and Jeter. My sisters and brothers have always had dogs as well.

So, a lot of dogs!

None have Ollie’s brain.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that he knows the name of all of his 50 toys. Not only does he catch football passes out of the air (and actually runs routes based on how I’m standing) but he’s undefeated in roll call.

I’ll mention the name of one of his toys and he will go find it.

“Where’s Albert?” I’ll ask.

He digs through the toy box, and brings back Albert.

“Where’s Bruce?”

Same result.

“I think I can teach this dog to talk,” I’ve often said, but the thing is, we do communicate beautifully.

“You left Kangaroo downstairs,” I’ll say.

Ollie will tilt his head, and I can hear him thinking.

Seconds later, he hits the stairs.

Thirty seconds after that, Kangaroo is in my lap.

And the football catching game is completely out of hand.

Now and again, Jake will take Oliver for a couple of days.

I feel lost when Ollie is gone because part of my day is throwing passes.

“Are you ready?” Is all it takes to get Ollie up and looking for a ball.

“Red one,” I’ll call out, and he’ll go get it.

I’m waiting for him, one day to answer me.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, Clifford, let’s go!”

It’s gonna’ happen.