I’ve never had reason to question my sanity, although I’m sure somebody else probably has.

In my circle of acquaintances, I’m considered to be a stable fellow of above-average intelligence, maturity, and social standing. Why, occasionally others seek my advice on matters of importance to them.

I consider myself an inner-directed person, yet I’m reasonably conscious of what others think. Within reason I want others to think highly of me, but I don’t pander to people like a paltry politician.

Today I had an epiphany. I realized that I engage in behavior that could drastically reduce the number of requests for advice that I receive, not to mention the number of people who would feel comfortable spending time with me.

I caught myself carrying on what appeared to be a normal conversation, but I was talking to a Labrador Retriever. The scary thing is I think he understands me.

Pluto, my 11-year-old yellow lab, is my best friend. I know this: he’s the only being (I almost said person.) on earth who wouldn’t laugh because I carry on lengthy conversations with a dog. I’d call that a friend, wouldn’t you?

Over the years, I’ve heard of or read about people who abandon the human race in favor of keeping company with cats, dogs, bears, horses, even gorillas. To be honest, I’ve always thought those people were a bit off their mental rockers.

Having become more introspective in my mature years, I may have to reconsider my opinions about those animal lovers.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t kiss Pluto on the lips, although I occasionally hug his neck. And he doesn’t sleep in my bed. But I’ve been known to treat people badly for kicking my dog around.

On one occasion, I even used Pluto to intimidate a cop. Several years ago, about 1 a.m. I was out on some silly errand that couldn’t wait until daylight and had Pluto along for company.

Riding in the back seat became more than Pluto could tolerate, so he began lobbying to get into the front seat. When whining and nudging weren’t getting the job done, he began licking my neck and ears.

Apparently I was swerving in my lane of traffic and a cop stopped me. I’m convinced that he was just lonely and wanted somebody to talk too.

After examining my driver’s license, he asked, "Mr. Gardner are you alright?"

"I’m fine," I said. "Why do you ask?"

"Well your car was swerving, but you obviously haven’t been drinking. I thought you may be having some difficulty," he said while Pluto was growling threateningly.

"Oh, I guess I was just fooling with my dog. He was trying to get in the front seat."

"That’s a fine looking dog. Does he bite?"

"Only if you put your hand in the car," I said with a straight face.

"You don’t have to worry about that, Mr. Gardner. You drive safely now, you hear."

"Thank you, officer. I will."

Then as I drove home, I asked Pluto what he thought of that cop.

I could have sworn I heard him say, "You’re safe with me, Harvey. That cop was terrified of me."

From that night to this, I’ve learned to listen to Pluto. He’s a wise dog. He could have barked and raised a ruckus while that cop questioned me, but he didn’t. Instead, he just got his face up close to the window and growled softly in his best baritone voice until that little cop was shaking in his boots.

On other occasions, he barks uncontrollably at people. So it leads me to believe he knows when to bark, when to growl, and when to hold his peace.

Further conversations with Pluto over the years lead me to believe that he can understand me when I talk to him. Yeah, I know the experts say that dogs just learn simple key words spoken repeatedly in similar situations each time until they’re conditioned to respond. But don’t you believe it.

Because today, when I said, "Pluto, do you want me to feed you now and put you in the basement before Aurora and Salem get here?"

He said, "I wish you would. I can handle cops, bill collectors, and meter readers. But those grandkids of yours scare the dog poop out of me."

I told you he’s smart.