Accurate. And timely, for a reason that I'll explain...

Yesterday, Mrs. Beese went to a fish market to get us ingredients for dinner. They told her that representatives from Pearl Jam - who were performing in town - had called them to ask if they had any sea bass. The market had mistakenly told them: No. So now, thanks to the goof, they could sell the sea bass to her.

This is what she explained to me when I got home. As she and I are both huge Seinfeld fans, I wondered aloud if this was a case of "Jon Voight's car". But we were both hungry - so we didn't concern ourselves with it for too long.

And it turned out to be as succulent a piece of fish as I've ever had. Melt-in-your-mouth stuff. "Better luck next time, Eddie!" I crowed with satisfaction - addressing Mr. Vedder in my imagination. "Maybe you can write a song about it!"

But in my piscatorial triumph, I failed to notice my whippet Reggie - the scoundrel on the left - inching up to the coffee table to steal a lick of the buttery platter. "No!" I cried in a panic. "Not the Pearl Jam fish!"

True story.

How Dogs See Humans

My Giant can't understand when I need to piss or eat.

My Giant can't read my obvious body signals about my emotional and physical needs, and instead makes me lift my paw or roll on my back or sit on my tail to communicate with It.

My Giant does not understand that I prefer to bathe in rivers, and at my own pace. Shivering only seems to make my Giant scrub harder and leave more soap in my pelt.

My Giant has no sense of smell unless every single scent is completely overwhelming and made of only one possible source.

My Giant talks too much, and only in either harsh tones or cloyingly sweet gobbledygook.

My Giant cannot tell where the rabbit has been, nor the skunk, nor the compost.

My Giant insists on smelling like chemicals and grease more than anything else.