Every pet owner believes their pet is exceptional. Love has a way of softening one's mind.

Our dog, Beans, may be like other dogs in many ways. He smiles by wagging his tail. He sheds his fur all over our clothes and home. He eats ravenously, as if his bowl might be snatched away at any moment. Plenty of dogs are like Beans in these respects.

I've written before about Beans' belief that he has medical expertise and can cure by licking any scab or small injury he sees, assured that his tongue has these powers of remediation. I also have explained that Beans can tell time even though he seldom looks at a clock and doesn't wear a wrist watch. But he always knows when it's time to go "walkin' with the women" every afternoon about 2:30, when my wife, Nancy, and a couple of her friends start their two-mile trek around the neighborhood.

What may be different about Beans can be divided into two areas. First, Beans can't stand change. Anything different in the neighborhood – whether it is a different car in a neighbor's driveway or even a different ornament in the window of a house up the street, it brings forth a series of barks and howls. Even a person out for a stroll two blocks away is cause for barking and howling if Beans doesn't recognize the person walking towards us. You see, our street belongs to Beans. His rather fierce demeanor suddenly changes into a tail-wagging friendliness once the person is close enough to speak and puts his hand down for Beans to sniff.

So, maybe your dog behaves this way, too. Although other dogs in our neighborhood don't seem so sensitive to anything different or out of place.

We are thankful that Beans barks when anyone turns into our lengthy driveway, even if it is an invited guest. We appreciate his warning barks of friend or foe approaching, even though it is usually a repairman or UPS delivery. Beans often seems to know a person is coming even before the car can be seen. When we mention that someone is coming to see us later in the day, the word "coming" sets off a series of barks.

Not all Beans’ barks are annoying. Some are conversational. Each evening when Beans is taken out for the night, he gives a couple of "good night" barks to Biscuit, a neighbor dog who lives a few hundred yards from us. Biscuit backs back a "Good night." And that's that.

The other characteristic that seems ingrained in Beans is his love of pillows. I don't want to give the impression that Beans is a sissy. He will fearlessly charge after a deer, no matter how large, or even in a group of a half dozen. Usually the deer are more fleet of foot and can escape a galloping, barking 35-pound Beagle hound.

As for pillows, Beans loves "soft." He will sit in a chair and rest his head on a pillow. Or he will claw a blanket into a pile to form a pillow for his head. If he sits next to me on the couch, he puts his head up on my leg, which acts as a pillow. His kingdom for a pillow – the softer the better.

Usually my wife takes Beans out each morning fairly early so he can do his business. If he accomplishes full relief – No. 1 and No. 2 -- he will proudly rush upstairs to tell me about it. I will then be expected to come downstairs and follow him to the back room where he will stand by a drawer where we keep treats. Naturally I give him one. He then races off happily. We spoil him, I admit.

As I have said, Beans has no means of telling time. But after lunch, he stands in front of me and stares as if to say," Well, Buster, don't just sit there; it's time to go out and get the mail. I know there are mostly bills and junk mail. But don't you want to see what's in The Wall Street Journal?" I then usually take him out, where he can race around sniffing the ground for anything new because he has not yet learned to read The Wall Street Journal.

Beans must be a little loco in one important way, I hate to reveal it, but Beans doesn't like football. He hates the crowd noise and our cries of excitement or moans when action on the field changes. At times Beans will even approach the big screen with the intent of punishing the other team if it scores a touchdown and we moan in disappointment. We tell Beans. "It's only football." But he knows how important it really is. Beans may be a dumb animal. But he's smart where smart counts.

Tait Trussell is an old guy and fourth-generation professional journalist who writes extensively about aging issues among a myriad of diverse topics.