You must understand that I grew up in a household in which pets were not allowed. I once had a goldfish, but while displaying my affection I squeezed it to death. A fish out of water and all that stuff.

My first three wives introduced me to the world of dogs. No, they were very beautiful women, but they insisted on canine companionship. Scamper was a spoiled beagle mix; Valentine, a cockapoo, was equally spoiled; and Tizoc and Yaqui - the latter named for the Indian tribe - were formidable German shepherds. With no knowledge of canine rearing, maintenance, and discipline, all I could give them was love. With little experience in human rearing, maintenance, and discipline, they responded in kind. My observation of and communication with them led me to believe that I was on to something big, not on the magnitude of Fossey and her apes, but a break-through nonetheless; I was learning canine languages.

Divorces cut short my observations, but Kathy, my last wife, has provided me with the graduate-level courses I needed. She introduced me to the worlds of cats and quarter horses. For those of you who don't know about quarter horses, they are a particular breed known for their superior speed over a quarter mile. They are handsome, strong, loyal and intelligent animals. Kathy is an experienced and astute horsewoman. She understands all animals and gets the most from them, including me. She is a natural. I am not.

I do not fear horses. I attribute this attitude to both stupidity and the belief that, because I made it to my current age, I am invincible. When she acquired Cooper and Dash, Kathy informed me that she purchased the front of the animals, and the rest belonged to me. As a result I have developed expertise in cleaning stalls, picking hooves and grooming. I think Cooper and Dash respect me, but I suspect they tell their friends I am silly.

For two winters we boarded Cooper at our local fairground in which he had a stall and some outdoor space in which to exercise. When I accompanied Kathy to morning feedings on cold wintry days, I was introduced to a new world of effluvious emanations. You know, smells. Opening the doors of a thirty-horse barn at the crack of dawn was more than sufficient to wake me without any assistance from coffee. A triple shot of espresso doesn't come close to the wake-up power of those ammonia odors.

Having a captive audience gave me the opportunity to practice my skill speaking animal language. I gave the horses my full repertoire of horse-talk, chicken-talk, cow-talk, sheep-talk, dog-talk and cat-talk. Those poor horses looked at me in amazement, and I am sure they remember to this day the kook who disrupted their early morning snooze with strange sounds. Their response was similar to the British audience in the Jerry Seinfeld ad when his stage act fell flat because he didn't know British colloquialisms.

When I approached Dash and Cooper with my whinny and neigh, they turned to each other and non-verbally exclaimed, "Oh, great! Kathy's not here to feed us, and Bernie's got the job. Well, let's ignore him. He'll feed us anyway." However, if horses can't see me when I whinny and neigh, they respond. I assume it's my face they find ridiculous.

Barley, my past constant golden retriever companion, was another story. We adopted Barley when he was three. He was trained and wanted only love and affection. I don't believe there is any breed as wonderful as a golden retriever, although other owners would probably say the same about their non-golden retriever pets. Again, using my limited knowledge of dog-talk, I barked, whined, and otherwise verbally communicated with Barley many times a day, always without success. He ignored me and displayed the look dogs give when they are attempting to defecate - that soulful, expressive look that says, "This is very personal! Please don't look at me. I don't look at you when you go to the bathroom."

When I attempted to communicate with Barley, the other dogs in the neighborhood answered. This must have meant that, like horses, when they do not have to look at me, they respond as though they hear one of their kind. I take this to be success. Although it is limited, I'm trying to figure out how I can turn this achievement into a scientific paper.

Our cats reacted differently. Petey and Mousey, both feral, and BC and Monica, house cats, appeared willing to communicate with me - at times. I have mastered many cat-talk dialects and expressions; words are not meaningful in cat-talk. Sometimes we have excellent conversations; other times they assumed Barley-like or Dash and Cooper-like attitudes. Cats in the neighborhood, when they hear but do not see me, do not respond. I understand there are differences between cats and other animals which I accept.

I am continuing my experiments in human-animal communication and limit my work to horses, cats and dogs. Oh, I considered other animals, but there's only so much I will do. A neighbor wanted me to expand into goat communication, but no thanks. I have my ethics, you know. Did you know that male goats, in order to to attract females for mating, urinate on their own faces? I believe I am as open-minded as the next person, but that's taking nature a little too far. I will not be a party to any conversation with a male goat.