I’ve had dogs most of my life. They’ve provided me with decades of companionship and, during my childhood, they became the one constant in my life. After years of studying and loving these canine creatures, I’ve come to depend on their loyalty, insight and intelligence.

When I was in second grade, my parents bought our first dog. Lady was a sweet, gentle Beagle who had a bed in our laundry room. Since we moved a lot, she became my friend and confidant. I’d often creep into the laundry room, lie next to her and complain about my parents, siblings or school. I shared a lot with Lady.

A couple years later, my parents decided it was time to move again. With deep insight, Lady commiserated with me. Bestowing me with slobbery kisses and soulful gazes, I knew that she knew I was suffering.

After Lady, there were a number of years when we were dogless. Petless, in fact. So, I had to rely on the friends — which wasn’t easy, since I knew an impending move was always on the horizon.

Eventually, another move and months of begging brought us Happy, another Beagle; this time, a male.

As a male, Happy wasn’t as attentive to my needs (OK, stop groaning), but this smiley-faced, somewhat scruffy, howling, scrappy puppy became my new pal.

And, although he was not as sweet as Lady, he was smart.

When we moved to the Pacific Northwest, Happy was replaced — sadly — by another beagle named McGinty. He wasn’t sweet, nor smart; he just barked — a lot — at nothing.

I learned very little from him. There’s always one.

Then in high school, we acquired an Afghan Hound, which my mother named Tuffles. Tuffy, as she nicknamed her, was lovable, engaging, appealing, attractive, delightful — and very, well, dim-witted.

While I was the benefactor of sloppy kisses and cold nose nuzzles, Tuffy never understood me with the same insight as Lady. She lumbered along, happily oblivious to the hard life of her teenage charges.

As an adult, our family was filled with dogs: Snuffer, Caesar, Roxy, Tara, Sadie, Shamus, Virgil, Sophie, litters of puppies, and another dog whose name I can’t remember.

Some were smart, some affectionate, some devoid of either trait.

But now we have two dogs — one female, Lady; one male, Remy — who are both loving and brilliant. I mean brilliant, bordering on genius.

For instance, these dogs know the sound of the UPS truck when it goes by on the street. Let me repeat that: My dogs know the sound of the UPS truck when it goes by on the street.

They run the entire length of the fence, barking until the truck is out of earshot.

Why?

Because, when the UPS driver comes into our gate, he has treats for the dogs, so when he doesn’t stop, they are mad.

These dogs are not only smart, they are compassionate, understanding confidants and good listeners.

You see, although we haven’t moved in 16 years, I still depend on their loyalty and often curl up next to them and confide, complain and commiserate.