Well over a year ago, my wife and I inherited a black Labrador retriever from our daughter, when she married a fine young man who lived in Fairbanks, Alaska. They married on December 28. According to my daughter, the airlines had a policy against flying animals to Alaska at that time of year--something about it being too cold in the hold. "Don't worry," she told us. "We'll fly the dog to Fairbanks next spring."

Right!

Stella the dog still lives with us. In fact, I'm fairly certain Stella regards our home as her home. Stella worships my wife, loves my son, and accepts me as a poor substitute for either of them when they are away. She now weighs about 65 pounds. During the day she patrols the back yard and naps in her house on our deck. In the evening, she joins us in the den, where she also sleeps the night away.

Stella holds strong opinions on how we should spend our time. For example, she clearly believes my wife ought to spend two or three hours per evening in our back yard, tossing Stella's favorite "fetch it" ball. Frankly, the dog would also like to squeeze in a two mile walk. My roles are simple: feed the dog, rough house with the dog, and sneak an extra bone to her as requested. Occasionally, I serve as her spokesperson, explaining to my spouse Stella's thinkng on any number of subjects.

While we sometimes chafe a bit, both of us love Stella. It's hard not to love a creature that offers you utter devotion and trust.

As it turns out, Stella is good for us. She forces us to move a bit outside ourselves and focus sharply on the needs of another--even if that "other" stands on four feet and wags its tail. Perhaps we'll be able to take what we've learned and apply it in daily life.  If so, some of the credit goes to Stella.