Sometimes we do crazy things with the conviction our pets are so much a part of our world that they must think like we do.

I suppose it’s understandable. How is it that they know we could use a little love, by wagging a tail and jumping into our laps as Farrah does when we open the pen door in the morning? I’ve gotten the same form of affection from the cats of friends that will rub against your leg, purr and want to be stroked.

Age makes no difference when it comes to animal communication and our assumption we understand one another.

Ollie, the spotted coon hound whose adventures where chronicled in this column more than once, was a cool dude. He was aloof, rarely sought our attention, and enjoyed drives in the car, getting to the dishwasher before we started the cycle, walks, tracking the scent of deer and eluding us when we were trying to catch up with him. As he aged, from beneath that veneer of non commitment emerged a heart. He started wagging, albeit just a gentle twitch, when we entered a room. He liked being with us and I swear it wasn’t just the scraps that we enjoyed giving him as much as he liked getting.

Ollie was old when we put him down. We calculate him to have been at least 16 based on his estimated age when we adopted him and the decade he was a part of our home. While it was apparent he was suffering from the ruptured tumor that led to extensive bleeding, it was hard to say goodbye. At that moment, as he lay on the veterinarian table, I felt the unwavering trust he placed in us. I like to think he knew we were always there for him although that seemed unlikely when we were trying to find him in the mountainous woods of upstate New York.

We adopted Farrah several weeks ago from Friends for Homeless Animals. She’s not an Ollie. She’s a nine-month old puppy — a mix between a corgi and a shepherd, which is hard to imagine — and extremely  affectionate.  Farrah has a short tail that is like a stick with a slight bend. It’s rare that it is not moving like a pendulum going back and forth.  She is 25 pounds of energy that at one point will race between rooms at great speed before collapsing in Ollie’s favorite chair to have her pink belly rubbed. In return she gives licks and gentle nibbles.

The nibbling, rather the chewing, is a concern. Her leash is knotted where she’s severed it within moments of attaching or disconnecting it from her collar. She’s taught us not to hang it from the hook near the door or leave it within her reach.  Her favorite toy from the many we have acquired is a knotted strand of rope to which we’ve tied a strand of halyard designed to hold hundred of pounds of torque. This is high tech line that can withstand all that the elements can dish out with fibers that won’t break down or stretch under extreme stress or the corrosive effects of ultraviolet rays. Farrah loves catching the thicker rope as we dangle it from the halyard. When she gets it, it’s a tug of war. And when we tire of that, that strand of halyard doesn’t have a chance with those pointy, sharp puppy teeth.

She has reduced Himalayan  Cheese Chews — foot long square bars resembling plastic — that are rated a 7 on the chew scale (antlers that are also available at pet stores are 10) to knobs about the size of golf balls. She tosses these in the air and chases them after clanking and skittering across the kitchen floor. It’s fun to watch. She’s an entertainer and she knows it, or at least, as I started off, I want to believe she does.

I was curious to test her understanding of her surroundings. She’ll spend hours looking out the kitchen door for squirrels and then jump up, claws scratching on the glass, when they cross the porch.

Might she react similarly to a FaceTime chat with my sister? Would she respond to having her named called and what would she think of Percy, Claire’s Portuguese water dog? To put this together, I sat on the dining room floor. Farrah didn’t need to be called, she sat in my lap. Claire’s face filled the screen as we started trading news. Farrah seemed to perk up when Claire called her name, a hopeful sign that she’s learning her name.

Claire got Percy to make the digital introduction.

“Look Farrah, there’s Percy,” I said making certain she saw his shaggy visage now filling the screen. She ought to be interested. After all she catches on to everything. There was no visible sign of canine recognition from either dog. It was like the phone wasn’t even there.

Farrah and Percy went their way and Claire and I continued our call until my cell phone faded.

Indeed, as I’m learning, face-to-face communication is preferable to all the other means, from texts to telephones, we have devised.

On that score, our pets are way ahead of us. They’re not interested in FaceTime.