Second, kudos to the Town Board for the triumphant old-tire collection last Saturday. The Board did more than organize and advertise the collection. They were also were the only workers at the day-long operation. Almost every member of the Board was on hand, counting the tires, doing the heavy work of hoisting them into dumpsters.

Two of our councilors were there from eight to four: Meg Kiernan and the lady who shares my life. But Orlo Burch spent a chunk of his day there, too; and John Schallert, bless him, was back and forth repeatedly, hefting tires till his shirt was soaked with sweat. Talk about "Your Town Government at Work!"

Through their efforts, almost six hundred worn tires are not cluttering barns, garages, and yards-or worse, abandoned in woods or along creeks. When you see those folks, thank them, please.

Now, about dog school. Weeks ago I reported that Blue, our mixed-breed, more-blue-heeler-than-not companion, has made great progress since joining our household. And not only the dog. We've made great progress, too. That's been largely because of the talents of Teresa Konopka, master trainer of canines and their owners.

For it turns out that a lot of dog-school education is for the humans. I mean the ones who think they've been doing right by their pets, but who, despite good intentions, block their dogs' progress and confuse them, too.

For instance, here's a major Teresa rule: Don't treat your dog like a child. That might fulfill your emotional needs, but it plays hob with a creature that has his own needs-especially a strong need to know just where it fits into the pack. Your dog (and you) will be happiest when it thinks of you as The Boss Dog, the pack leader. Then, by instinct, the dog will submit to you; and doing what you want will make it feel secure and happy.

When you must correct your dog, says Teresa, do it in a firm, self-possessed tone, lowering your pitch to express displeasure. (The dog will read that low sound as a growl by the Boss Dog.) And don't shout! Anne and I make this mistake in trying to blunt one of Blue's remaining quirks: he barks loudly, endlessly, when someone pulls into the driveway or knocks on the back door.

When he starts barking salvos, we get frazzled and react just the wrong way. From the living room, Anne yells, "Blue, stop that!" From upstairs in my study, I yell, "STOP, DOG!" But Blue hears only the strong emotion in our voices and thinks, "They're upset by this intruder!" And, worse, he thinks we're barking, too. "Hey, the whole pack is baying!" Then he really cuts loose.

What stops Blue's bark instantly is saying "No" in a firm, low tone, and then, if necessary, flipping him onto his back. The latter brings instant submission. By his lights, the Boss Dog has growled a clear order and pinned him down, too.

But that's a moment, says Teresa, to avoid another bad mistake: Don't correct your dog and then comfort it. Do that and you've contradicted yourself and confused your pet.

Dogs want clear rules, clear directions. Dogs want to know who is in charge. And, absent firm leadership from you, a dog will feel bound to fill the gap. He'll be uneasy in the role, and you'll be unhappy, too.

These and other bits of education Teresa has worked into her instruction of the dogs that we owners bring to class. The dogs and the owners are wonderfully varied. In Blue's and our elementary obedience class, there were purebreds and mutts, old dogs and young, tiny dogs and ones built like saddle animals. And the people were just as varied.

Often at the other end of the leash from tiny dogs were humans who were, well, heavily upholstered. And a couple of the goliath dogs were linked by leash to puny humans. One of those goliaths could whirl suddenly during a trot and swing its owner right off the ground.

Some in that elementary class shouted harshly at their dogs, and some coddled them with baby talk. But both of those types seemed to weed themselves out. By advanced obedience (with "sit," "stay," "lie down," and "heel" already old hat), owners and dogs seemed better matched, and both seemed happily determined to learn more.

Teresa holds class in a big barn off River Road. In advanced obedience, the class stars (Blue included) could be told to sit-and-stay at one end of the barn, and remain there, tensed but motionless, while the owners walked to the far end. Then, at the release command of "O.K.!" the dogs would come bounding down the barn for praise and a doggie treat. A great moment for pets and humans.

As was the fun trotting together through the series of obstacles Teresa laid out: small rails to jump over, A-frames to climb and descend, see-saws to negotiate (up one side to the point of balance, then, as the board shifts, down the other); flexible plastic tunnels to run through.

But some of us owners, middle-aged and older, found the agility course more challenging than did our dogs. Teresa (to keep the dogs from getting bored, she said) would vary the order of the obstacles each time.

"O.K.," she'd say, "This time it's over the two jumps, around and over the ramp, then over the A-frame, then onto the table. Then through the tunnel, over the other jumps, and up and down on the see-saw." We humans would puff along beside our dogs, trying to remember the right order, encouraging them on. And, as you'd suspect, we'd mess up more often than the dogs.

But never mind. The dogs loved it. At the end of an obstacle run, if Blue had the mouth for it, he'd have been grinning.

Jim Atwell lives in and views life from Fly Creek. He can be found on the web at JimAtwell.com.