I've heard it said that people can learn a lot from animals. Well, I don't know about other animals, but people can certainly learn a lot from dogs.

Although I'm happy with my home, sometimes when a guest leaves the gate open I will wander off into the street. But I never go far-maybe down by the Oasis (they sometimes have good garbage), or down Tonti St. Although I love to go to the Bayou and the park, I never go there alone. I guess you might say our home is my source of strength and comfort; and when I get too far away I loose my connection.

My family is basically Jim and Martha, and Alex and Justin, when they are home. You guys are the most important creatures in the world to me. I look forward to visits from B&B; guests and I'm always glad to see Jim at the end of the day. Yesterday, while I was eating, Jim opened the drawer under the window seat, where my leash is kept. Foolishly, I thought we were going for a walk. I stopped in the middle of my dinner-I was ready to go. So you might say I love you guys and the time I spend with your more than food.

I've mentioned my work to you before. You know about my defense of the perimeter of the house from the possible invasion of school kids. That and chasing cars are the majority of my job description.

But the most important thing about my work is that its an offshoot of my commitment to home and family. I would chase cars and defend our territory regardless of where we lived-provided, of course, that I loved that home and family enough. And you know, I hope, that where you guys are concerned, I do.

Jim tells me that some humans have difficulty choosing between home and family. For me that would be a "no brainer." I would find a job to do, that I would enjoy-that would give me satisfaction, but that is compatible with my love of home and family. Home and family, and the love that I find there, are my source of strength.

Do you think people can learn a lot from dogs?

Yesterday, when the weather changed and the sun came out I had what I call a frolic. It was just Martha and me at the house. She was inside working. If she had known just what I was doing she probably would have said something stern like "NO!!!!" But she didn't.

So I had some quality time with the broom and the mop. They were in the grass this morning.

Only occasionally am I able to grab either the broom or the mop. It is a rare treat to have them both, and at the same time. They are very different from each other, you know, and while it may appear to the casual observer that I am simply gnawing at and shaking each one, in fact there is much more going on.

I like to hold the broom and the mop in my jaw and wield them around. I imagine that I am a king or maybe an emperor, greeting my subjects, and that I can command them. But it doesn't work on the school children outside the fence, nor on Martha, or Jim. But of course you know how persistent I am. I keep trying.

I tried the broom first, then the mop. I like to take them on the grass, at the edge of the terrace. When the sun is beaming down on my back and I'm swinging these magic scepters around I feel like a champion. I am so happy.

I wish someone had been here to share my joy, and watch me frolic. But again, another human would have probably said "NO!!!!", also.

I hear people talk about stereotypes. Well, they are a problem for dogs, also.

When I first came to the Benachi House as a puppy, in 1993, one marvelous aspect was the school children who passed outside the fence. Whenever possible, I would go out to meet them, and walk along inside while they walked outside.

But some children started to taunt me - pulling at the fence, throwing rocks and making loud noises - and I started to bark. Pretty soon I was dealing in stereotypes - thinking that most kids were hostile. I choose now to bark at most kids just as soon as I can see them. I wish I could be more selective, but I seem overcome by this huge impulse to defend our turf.

I have an easier time differentiating the cars and motorcycles. Many can pass on the street, and I won't become excited. But some types, shapes and sounds really get me going. And I will jump up from wherever I am and chase them, inside the fence, with great abandon.

Humans have stereotyped me as a Labrador Retriever. I hear the guests say that over and over. Humans don't understand that Labradors are divided into two sub groups: the retrievers and the collectors. I am not a retriever, I am a collector. I love to fetch the balls and sticks thrown my way, but I hate to part with them. It makes for a great game. You throw! I catch! I withdraw just far enough to tempt you, and I keep! You try and try to get it back, and get exasperated! Oh, what a wonderful feeling it gives me!

I add the ball or stick to my collection of playthings, and you to my collection of playmates. One of my great pleasures in life is to play keep-away with humans. They are so gullible; and they can't believe that this dog can be so possessive.

Once, when Jim hosted a wedding reception at the house, at the end of the day there were four little boys and a ball and me, in the front yard. They would throw the ball to me, and I would run through them like a fullback through a defensive line - kids falling all over to tackle me. Try as they did they could never get the ball. I felt such pride and accomplishment.

You can see my ball collection around the yard: deflated, scruffy and much-loved by me.

The rules of the game are: whichever ball you want, I want more than you do. If you don't want it, I don't want it anymore. I want it because you do.

Being a collector requires that I make choices. Sometimes you will see me with a ball in my mouth, looking longingly at you, hoping that you will play the game. If you're clever, you'll offer me a second ball - in your hand or on the ground. Then I'll have to choose. Unfortunately, I can only hold one in my mouth at a time. So choices create real dilemmas for Labrador collectors - not for retrievers, just for collectors.

Don't judge me! And don't think you know me until we've become acquainted.

I hear people talk about the dog days of summer. I don't hear anything about the dog days of winter. Let me tell you.

Night before last and all yesterday morning, it rained so much I didn't even get out of bed. Didn't even go downstairs with Jim for his breakfast, the traditional oatmeal cookup, the morning paper, my breakfast, or a poop or pee escape to the yard.

When Jim left for work I didn't budge. I knew it wasn't worth the effort. Did you know that dogs have really good judgment about the weather?

We should replace those TV weathermen.

Martha came over and let me out and fed me about 1:00PM, and I went out. I took up my spot on the front porch where I remained most of the day. But when a particularly egregious person would pass I would still go out to confront him at the fence. So I did my job, despite the weather.

If rained again last night, all night, and Jim was edgy. I moved from my bed well under Jim's bed where I remain even as this E-Mail goes out. Two days of rain can really dampen the spirits of even the happiest dog.

Maybe the skies will clear today. I hope so. I have work to do.

Well, today is just about as good for dogs as yesterday was dreary. I've been outside on the porch waiting for the school kids and my regular confrontations. The sky is clear (I don't know the color, I'm a dog, you know, and we can't distinguish colors), and it's a lot cooler than yesterday.

The yard is muddy, so I'll slosh around. I will try to track mud into the house, and Martha will try to stop me. I hope she leaves the kitchen door open. If she does, I'll nose my way through the screen door and on into the kitchen and dining room. I'll walk around downstairs and leave my paw prints. I really enjoy this.

Then Martha and I will probably play out our regular routine: she will scold me, I will look downcast and sulk away, and she will make me go outside. After things cool a bit, I'll try it again. I love these scenes.

I understand that humans consider dogs to be oblivious to Valentine's Day. I really don't know how that can be so; nothing can be further from the truth.

You really don't find anything about Valentine's Day in the human literature about dogs, or dog web sites; and I've never heard about it as a subject in any human discussion group about dogs. What a loss! And a mistake! There's really a lot of dog interest in Feb 14th, and if humans would watch their dogs carefully they would note the subtle changes in their behavior that occur at that time.

I guess human just don't speak with their dogs about such things. If they did they would surely find that Valentine's Day is important to dogs-and rightly so.

In case you don't know, your dog is the only creature likely to love you more than you love yourself. So it follows that dogs have big, sensitive, loving hearts; and for any such creature Valentine's Day is a big deal. I know it is for me.

Here's my Valentine's Day plan:

First, I plan to sleep late, just as long as my Valentine does; and to only get up when my Valentine does. I will then present my best grin, and my most expectant, anticipatory antics. I will go over and stand by my Valentine's shoes-and if I'm lucky I may hear my Valentine say the word "walk". Irrational exuberance will be the order of the day. (Allan Greenspan thinks he coined that expression. Actually, the concept was invented by a Labrador ancestor of mine, and only crept into human language after Labradors were observed by humans. Labradors are the personification of irrational exuberance.)

Then, I plan to unearth any personal items previously buried by me, belonging to my Valentine, and return them. That would be my Valentine's Day gift. Mostly socks and shoes, and maybe a stick. That is likely to be difficult, because I can't remember where I buried them all. But I'm committed to the process.

Finally, and just for Valentine's Day, I plan to retrieve for my Valentine any sticks or balls that she may throw. I will not only go get them, I will bring them back, and let my Valentine have them. My friends, including brown dog if he's around, will be amazed. That is a major change just for Valentine's Day-to show how much I care. This giving them back part is a real sacrifice for me, but for the right Valentine, it's worth it. And I hope it will pay big dividends in pets, rubs and a Valentine's Day walk. For that I will truly be on my best behavior.

Dogs are very loving, and neither jealous nor possessive. Although you and I could be Valentines to each other, as a human you could still have a human/human Valentine, also. From what I understand, Jim needs a Valentine. I'm not sure I know what that entails, but I know Jim to be a great guy (when he's not telling me to get off the porch). I personally believe that as humans go you couldn't make a better choice.

From time to time Jim hires Oliver Badon to come and paint. Oliver is a distinguished looking Creole gentlemen, who walks to work, arriving promptly at 7:30AM with his lunch in a brown paper bag, dressed in his painting clothes.

He sets up a drop cloth and ladder, his roller pan and roller, his brushes and other paraphernalia. When Oliver is here, I like nothing better than to lie under the ladder and keep him company. The "thank you maams" drop from Oliver's brush and roller sprinkling me like confetti. I love it. Oliver thinks I'm eccentric. I am so devoted to Oliver and his artistry.

By the end of the week I might be dotted with paint in three or four different colors: looking like a bizarre, reversed Dalmatian. The guests call me a "painted dog."

I hate it when Jim goes out of town. I guess it makes me a little crazy.

Last month I saw him pack his bags and I got kind of anxious. Then the bags were gone, and I figured that Jim was too; and that I would be alone in the house again with just Martha to pester and torment.

The same day that the bags disappeared, in the afternoon, two women guests came in. Martha greeted them, and showed them to the room just at the top of the stairs. I can't read, of course, but the label on the door says 'I R E N E'. It's a big room, and sometimes I spend the night in it when the kids are in town.

I heard the women say their names: Liz and Diane. They were pretty attractive. Younger than Jim, but older than Alex. One was a blonde and the other a brunette. That's just a guess on my part. Dogs are color blind, you know. If you think it's hard to tell a dog's age, try being a dog and telling a person's; especially since a dog's concept of age is pretty shaky, at best. They were probably as old as Martha.

They looked like Jim's type, at least to me. He and I have been together about six years now, and I must say that almost all the women he's brought home have been appealing to me. I guess he and I just think alike. Maybe that just comes from being together. We're roommates, you know.

In any case I liked Liz and Diane from the get go. I followed them upstairs and just hung around. They noticed me, and I got several really friendly pets. It was love at first sight. I heard them tell Martha that they each liked dogs. Man, when a guest says that, I get excited. I figured that some delightful action would be coming my way.

Then I saw them change clothes and go out. I waited in the yard. It got dark. I waited some more. Then a cab came with Liz and Diane - it was going to be a heavenly weekend.

I went with them to the front door, and when they opened it, I walked in. They walked around downstairs, talking like a lot of guests about the furniture, and ignoring me.

I figured I would really make a statement of my affection for them. While they were talking I walked upstairs and got in their bed. It's the big one in the I R E N E room, and the only one in the house that's low enough to the floor for me to climb in. It was soft and comfy. I got right in the middle. I thought How can they ignore me now?

Liz and Diane came in. They started laughing. They petted me. I lay very still. Their voices were so friendly at first, like the voice of a dog lover when a dog is doing something that she approves. Then their voices got a little more tense. I heard them say my name. Then the word "move" was repeated several times: first, by Liz, then Diane. Then Liz tried it again.

I lay there very still. I was doing the old dog trick of "playing dead." My eyes were mostly closed. Diane shouted a couple of times. I hate it when that happens. Then she and Liz took turns pulling on me.

One thing I've heard people say over and over is that I'm the biggest Labrador they've ever seen. Well I guess it was true for Liz and Diane. They couldn't budge me. And they tried and tried. Then they gave up. I heard them talk about what to do. We were alone in the house - just the three of us. They couldn't call for help.

They said that they really didn't mind that I was in the bed, but that now they would have nowhere to sleep. So they went through a connecting door to another room called M A R I E, got undressed and got in the bed there.

I stayed put. I pretended to be asleep. It was really comfortable. If I had done this while Jim was here, he would have yelled at me. Our relationship is so predictable over things like that.

I had the I R E N E room all to myself. But my plan sort of backfired. I thought that I would be spending the night with Liz and Diane, but instead I only got to sleep in their bed while they slept in M A R I E. I didn't even get to smell their perfumes because they had never slept in the I R E N E bed.

Once I got in and created all the commotion, I was too proud to get out and join them in the M A R I E room. So I stayed the night in I R E N E. They left the door open. When Martha came in the following morning I got up and walked downstairs. I pretended that everything was normal. What a night.

Did I say that I hate it when Jim goes out of town? I also love it.