First, there was Jess, a beagle that my father's boss rescued from a garage. A previous tenet of his had left the property and neglected to tell him that a. they were leaving and b. they left their puppy in the garage. Jess nearly starved to death and had various health problems for the rest of his life. My parents found him a new home when we moved out of state. Verdict: nice dog.

Our second dog lasted for a period of about 2 weeks. For some reason, my mother chose a Cockapoo, a cocker spaniel/poodle mix. The dog was cute, small and black, and peed like a leaky faucet whenever she saw my dad. My dad is about 6 feet tall with broad shoulders and of a moderate build Over the years, he has taken to wearing a full beard. In short, he usually looks like a mountain man. Whatever the appearance, it was too much for "Bear." My parents gave her to the neighbors where she continued to pee in front of the master of that house until they found her a third home with no imposing men.

The third dog was the greatest - Barney. A two-year old Basset Hound and retired show dog, Barney was the bomb. I've never had a dog since who was better behaved. Plus, he was the classic example of a Basset. Short with stout legs, a broad chest, a graceful curve in his back, and exceptionally marked with in brown, black, and white. My mother answered an ad in the newspaper and paid a modest fee to take him home on the spot. The first night at our house, we sat down to dinner and the dog left the room. He LEFT the room. He was taught not to beg. Like I said, he was the bomb.

Unfortunately, Barney acquired cancer at age 5. My mother was crying so profusely on the way to the vet that she took the dog to my grandfather's business instead. When he proved unable to compose himself, he paid one of his employees to do it. Verdict: only the good die young.

This brings us to Chester, my mother's fourth dog and a feeble attempt to live up to the greatness that was Barney. Chester was a Basset Hound that my mother picked out as a puppy because he was the one that ignored the visitors to follow the breeder to a food dish. My parents, like most people, are completely unable to discipline a dog, and as a result, Chester was a mess from day one. If he got off leash, he would run the other way when you called him, and as he got older, he developed a stink so bad that my dad eventually confined him to a few rooms. Plus, like many worthless people, Chester lived to be an old man of 14. He eventually suffered a stroke, and my dad had him put down. Verdict: pain in the ass dog.

All this brings me to Limey, Jeff's dog. Limey was 3 when I met Jeff, and I wasn't sure what to think of him. First, he's big - 55 pounds and completely solid like a power tool. Second, he was fairly undisciplined. He sat on any piece of furniture he wanted to, and there was hair everywhere. He humps strangers, ignores other dogs, and licks the floor when nervous. It's like he's retarded or something. He snores worse than any person I've ever met. He's lazy and such a deep sleeper that I have to pull the blankets off him and physically shake him to get him up in the morning.

Today, I got a group of photos back from the developer, and there were four shots of Limey. I laughed out loud. He scratched his eye a month ago, and we had to get him a lampshade collar. Whatever the device costs, it was worth it in comic value alone. I just might be forced to admit that this is the greatest dog of my adult life, and I hope it isn't the last.