So I have to wonder if carrying on a two-way conversation with a dog (in which I play both parts) is a sign that I have finally gone around the bend or that I spend too much time with the dog.

I also talk to our cat, Frisky, but so far the cat hasn't answered me in the sing-songy voice that Rex uses when he answers my questions. I put my questions to the cat pretty straightforwardly because cats are pretty straightforward creatures. They know what they want done, and you better just get it done if you know what's good for you. For example, if Frisky comes into the house and there isn't something to eat in his bowl, he will walk over to one of the humans who happen to live with him and let out a loud scream. I wouldn't think of asking him something stupid like, "Are you hungry?"

If he could talk (like Rex), he would say in a voice with a cultured British accent, "Why, of course I'm hungry, you moron. I just spent an exhausting day sitting in the sun, and now it's time to eat. Let's hop to it."

Once his meal is over, Frisky will take another nap or stand by the door with an angry look until someone lets him out. If it takes too long to get to the door — like five seconds or more — he will let out a meow. But nobody thinks of asking him, "Do you want to go outside?" The answer to that question would be, "Of course, you idiot. Do you think I'm standing here for my health?"

The dog never gives me that kind of attitude. Usually it'll go something like this:

"Are you hungry, Rex? Do you want something to eat, boy?" (That's a good way to get his attention.) Now, I know this is a silly question because Rex is always hungry. But just in case I didn't know in every fiber of my body that Rex wants something to eat, I provide the answer. Only I say it in a singsong voice that's higher and squeakier than the one I used in asking.

"Yes, I would like something to eat, thank you," I reply in my high-pitched squeak.

Fortunately, I have most of my conversations with the dog while I'm home alone. I'm afraid if the kids heard me asking Rex a question — and supplying the answer in the same breath — they might think their father really had lost his mind.

But I don't think I'm nuts because I know it sounds like I'm crazy — and if you know what you are doing makes you sound crazy then you are not crazy.

I told the Truly Unpleasant Mrs. Johnston the other day that I was carrying on long conversations with the dog and I was afraid I was going around the bend. Mrs. Johnston said she didn't think I was nuts.

"That's good to hear," I said. "How do you know for sure?"

"Because the cat told me," Mrs. Johnston said.