There is a man who trains dogs, and he doesn't have to train them to have them obey him.  To prove it, he calls Rover (our dog).  Rover runs to the door, stands on his hind legs, and with a flick of his paws, opens it.  He then goes out into the yard, which is flooded.  At this point, the dog is no bigger than my hand.  Still following the man, he has to kind of hop to get himself through the water.  Once, he goes under and I lift him up.  The next time he goes under, I can't find him, but I see a hole about the size of my little finger.  The man says "Well, that sometimes happens."  The hole gets to be about twice as big as my mouth, and I try to suck him out, to no avail.  Strangely, I don't feel very sorry.  The next one is a roach, which I don't like at all, and I am glad to see the man kick it down the hall, only to have grandpa save it with his knife handle a couple of times.