By Daniel Dunaief

Dear Paw Landers,

I’ve never written a letter like this before. Truth be told, I’ve never written a letter of any kind.

But I understand you live far away and that you dispense valuable advice that I could use in my everyday life with the guy and his family.

The guy spends most of his days sitting at this thing typing, so I guess I can do it for an hour or so, which, you know, is more like seven hours for him.

I was thinking of asking you about that rumbling noise that scares me so much when it gets incredibly dark out and when the ground gets wet. Those sounds make me want to find cover somewhere, but no matter where I go, I can still hear it and feel the terrible vibrations. It’s like if a pack of, you know, us were running around the neighborhood, growling so loudly outside the door that we caused the floor to vibrate a second or two after a flash of light.

No, no, I’ll save the questions about those noises for some other letter. This one is about the delicate social business of interacting in the neighborhood.

You see, my guy varies in his social energy and interests. Some days, he speaks with everyone we run into and bends down to pet other dogs.

That doesn’t bother me, the way it did with Fifi last week, when she complained that her owner pets other dogs more readily and happily than she pets Fifi. I’m fine if my guy wants to scratch other dogs behind their ears or rubs their back. Frankly, there are times when I think he needs a hobby to get out all of his scratching, squeezing and high-pitched voice energy that he reserves for me and, once in a while, for small people when they come to the house.

Other times, he barely waves or acknowledges people and their pets. He’s either staring into his phone and talking to himself or he’s making lists out loud and telling himself what he needs to do that day.

When he does stop to chat with neighbors and their companions, he often talks about me while the other human talks about their dog. I’m kind of tired of hearing about how I don’t like to swim, how I’m not that high energy and I don’t fetch.

Everyone doesn’t have to fetch or swim, right? But, then, he also talks about how sensitive I am and how supportive I am whenever anyone is feeling sad in the house. Hey, we all have our strengths, right?

When he’s chatting, sometimes about me and sometimes about the weather, I’m not always sure how long the pause in our walk will go.

I sometimes sit or lay down near him, while other dogs jump or sniff around me. Other times, I’m so happy to see one of my neighbors that she and I try to tie the two leashes into a knot in the shape of a heart. My guy and the neighbor never see it, but it’s so obvious to us.

Every so often, I meet someone intriguing and, you know how it is, right? I have to sniff them, the way they have to sniff me. The question is, how long can I sniff their butts before it becomes socially awkward, either for them or for the humans?

I mean, I can tell when my guy is in an intense conversation about something, when his voice drops or shakes and I want to help him. At the same time, I have this need to sniff.

Clearly, sniffing butts at the wrong time or for too long can become a problem for the guy and the other person.

If we do it too long, their conversation ends and he walks away, muttering and puling on me until we get inside.

So, what’s the ideal, allowable butt sniffing time? And remember that none of us is getting any younger, so, you know, if you could write back soon, it’d help. You can’t see me, but I’m looking up at you with my big brown eyes and wagging my tail. That usually works with the guy.