Okay, so maybe every now and then I’d sneak a banana chunk from Ivan’s breakfast.

But then things changed. I became civilized. Domesticated. A pet.

Don’t get me wrong. There are definitely some perks. Julia, who’s an artist, painted my name on a food bowl. She gave me this wonderfully mushy blanket, the kind where you can bed boogie forever till it’s squished to perfection and you can curl up just so.

I love that blanket. But I simply cannot sleep without Not-Tag, Ivan’s raggedy old toy gorilla.

Course, just when I get my blanket and Not-Tag imprinted with the right amount of Eau de Bob, Julia’s mom does the unthinkable. Puts them in the washing machine and removes every last bit of . . . me.

There are other indignities I tolerate.

The daily walk on a tug-of-war string, after going stringless my whole life.

The attempts to train me. Like that’ll ever happen.

The kisses and cuddling.

Well, the cuddling’s okay, I s’pose.

But the kissing I just don’t get. If you wanna kiss your dog, why not just give him a big old lick on the face and be done with it?

Anyways. So what if I’ve gotten a little spoiled? A tad soft around the edges?

There’s a difference between being soft and being afraid. Being a coward.

another confession

Too bad I know the truth.

I’m both.

cricket bully

When Julia returns from walking her charges, I race over and give her a good ol’ Bob-style hello. Lots of yipping and twirling, followed by some attempts to jump into her arms.

Humans love that stuff.

Julia looks at me sternly and says, “Robert, down.”

I leap some more because I’m determined to convince her I’m incorrigible. Untrainable. It’s part of my charm. My Bobliness.

“Down,” she says again. From her coat pocket, she pulls out her little metal clicker, along with some treats.

I hate that clicker. It’s meant to help train me. But it’s like a cricket bully.

Here’s the theory. I do something right, Julia clicks. Gives me a treat. The clicks tell me when I’m behaving, and the treats reinforce it.

If that happens enough, before your very eyes I’m supposed to transform into a Good Dog.

Well, I ain’t that easy.

“Down, Bob.” Julia tries again.

I want a treat, but not enough to cave. So I opt for a playbow. A compromise.

Julia sighs. “You are definitely a challenging student.” To my annoyance, she puts the treats back in her pocket.

I think Julia may be onto me.

trust

A while ago, Julia got it into her head that I needed to improve my manners. We went to a dog-training class.

I wasn’t really into the whole Sit and Stay and Do the Tango stuff.

The worst command of all? The truly inexcusable, only-a-human-could-come-up-with-it order?

LEAVE IT.