I’ve had some pretty darn good dogs.

I’ve gotten to train thousands of dogs of all shapes and sizes. Some good, some bad, all interesting.

Through training, I’ve been able to help save thousands of dogs from the grim reaper. I’m grateful for that.

I haven’t been bitten that often. And when I was, it was pretty much my fault. Mostly.

I have helped thousands of people to keep their dogs.

I have talked hundreds of people out of getting a dog at the wrong time or for the wrong reasons.

I have been around dogs long enough to see into them, and not at or around them.

I can see who a dog is now, and that’s a great gift. Thanks for that.

Of the ten thousand or so dogs I have known, I have only disliked seven, I think. Yes. Seven.

I’m grateful for my weakness for strays, ferals, jailbirds, brigands, jerks, thieves, refugees, and geriatrics.

I am glad that I usually keep a leash and a few treats in my car, for those times when, driving home, tired, in the rain, at dusk, I see that errant lost dog with no street savvy, running around like a kid lost in a department store, that silly, desperate look on its face.

I am glad that I grew up in a New York apartment building, and didn’t have a dog until I was thirty-three.

I am glad that my books have helped people across the globe.

I’m glad that I have been brutally honest with people about their dogs.

I am very, very grateful that my life was saved, at least four times, by my great dog, Lou. Very glad. Thanks Lou.

I am grateful that I get to talk with all of you. I should do it more often. But I am grateful.

I am even grateful for cats.