I've never been a pet-sitter before. I've never owned a dog. But I've seen a couple of episodes of "The Dog Whisperer"; surely that qualifies me to look after a pooch for a few days.

Besides, Oggie T. Doggie, a black Lab well into middle age and well-trained, too, is no Marley. A walk in the morning, a walk in the evening, food twice a day, plenty of water and a pat on the head. Easy peasey squeak-toy squeezey.

WEDNESDAY: Everything went well! This will be a walk in the P-A-R-K (you have to spell it or he gets all excited and wants to go).

It looks as if my habit of snacking in front of the TV has to change, though. The after-hours nosh is no fun with a 65-pound starving orphan sitting in front of me, ogling my dip and licking his chops.

I wasn't expecting to shack up with a personal trainer. I know I shouldn't eat on the couch. But I can't see the TV from the table.

THURSDAY: Morning and night, the dog takes me for a drag through the neighborhood. How does Cesar Millan get dogs to walk next to him? I tried saying "Tsssst," but Oggie doesn't listen. He is a guy.

He's too busy sniffing and wrapping his leash around every stop sign in Highland Park. He's not smart enough to unwind, so I have to do it.

Or maybe he's smarter than I think.

FRIDAY: Why does he have to lie down in the exact geographic center of the bed? Where am I supposed to sleep? Not in the living room on his bed.

I was dying for something salty about 10:30, so I crept into the kitchen to sneak some crackers over the sink. He busted me. Next he'll be bugging me to go to the gym. This from a creature that stops to water broken shrubs and tree branches, which have surely suffered enough.

He spotted a rabbit while we were out walking tonight but couldn't dislocate my shoulder in time to catch it.

I haven't used the scooper I bought. A bag over the hand works surprisingly well, though I wish I also had a bag over my head.

I've signed us up for a dog-friendly guided hike through South Park for three hours tomorrow. It might rain, but I have an old blanket and towels in the car. How tough could it be?

SATURDAY: I knew he was excitable, but he makes rodeo broncos look serene.

I laid the blanket and towels down to cover the back seat. I buckled the seat belt through his car harness. When we got to South Park, I found that the dog had carefully bunched the blanket and towels to one side to avoid getting hair on them.

Note to self: The beige upholstery goes with a YELLOW Lab.

As for the three-hour hike, the rain held off until the last 20 minutes. Of course, it had been raining all night and much of the morning. The ground was very, very wet in the woods, particularly on the trails. There was less mud at the Battle of the Somme.

Fortunately, by the time I got him toweled off and the blanket rearranged on the back seat, he was too tired from pulling me through thorn bushes and barking at ducks to redecorate. He passed out like a 4-year-old in a birthday-cake coma.

SUNDAY: Oggie was ready for more adventures, and we had an invitation, so we drove back to the South Hills to visit my friend Jay. Jay hospitably hid his cats and offered water and treats, but the dog just couldn't relax. He stared up at a framed sketch of cats and paced around in circles. His manners as a guest leave a lot to be desired. Jay could tell he was anxious to leave, especially when Oggie kept trying to put on his car harness by himself. Another quadruped thwarted by a lack of opposable thumbs.

At least he's good and tired again tonight, my last night on the job. I'm pretty wrecked myself. He's a good dog, though, and I've enjoyed my time with him.

He's snoring! If I open the jar quietly, maybe I can sneak some peanuts.

Looking for more from the Post-Gazette? Join PG+, our members-only web site. You'll get exclusive sports content, opinion, financial information, discounts from retailers and restaurants, and more. Our introduction to PG+ gives you all the details.