One researcher said his dog understood more than 200 words, and when he told the pooch to do something, the dog just did it without looking at him like he'd lost his mind.

I've had dogs all my life. Most have been black labs because they are friendly and generally can tolerate humans better than other dogs. The most tricks any of these dogs have been able to do is sit and shake hands. If I threw a ball and told them to "fetch," they all looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

"You just had the ball and then you threw it away," the dogs seemed to say. "Now you want me to run across the street, pick up the ball and bring it back so you can do it all over again? How about bringing me another treat, and we'll call it a day?"

(I must digress for a moment. While I've never asked much of the Johnston children, I have asked them to occasionally help around the house. I figure I've been providing them room and board, so the least they can do is take out the garbage and pick up their dirty clothes.

I've also provided room and board for the dogs, but I can't think of one thing I've ever asked them to do — and that includes cleaning up after themselves.

Now who do you think is the smartest?)

Dog people know their dogs can understand English or whatever language they happen to speak. They can even spell words. But it doesn't stop there.

When the Truly Unpleasant Mrs. Johnston and I would take our labs for a walk, one of us would say something reckless like "Let's go for a walk," and get the leash. As soon as the dog heard the word "walk," he would come bouncing to the front door and generally make a pest out of himself until we were out the door.

None of the dogs understood about having to put on jackets or shoes. We said "walk," and they were dressed and ready to go. So we stopped saying "walk" when we were getting ready to go out for a walk. Instead, we started to spell W-A-L-K. But the crafty dog somehow knew how to spell and rushed to the door, bouncing and ready to go.

We stopped talking and spelling with our current canine, Rex the Wonder Dog, because he understood everything. It was like having a spy living in the house. Mrs. Johnston and I were reduced to signaling each other with rapid eye movements that it would be nice to go outside for a walk.

We'd pretend to be going into the front room but would grab the leash and head out the front door. A bouncing, overjoyed dog was already there, waiting to begin his adventure. I think he could sense the change in our body temperature and know something was up.

In the past couple of months, I've become convinced that the dog has started to read my mind — or maybe do something to me with his mind that forces me to do his bidding.

Right now, Rex is sitting on our bed and watching me closely. Each time I type in the word "walk" he sits up and stares at me. Watch this: WALK!

I have to sign off now. The dog and I are going for W-A . . .