A dog may be a man’s best friend — except when the man has to take the dog out in snow, rain, heat or gloom of night — but as a man whose best friends have all been female, I hadn’t had a male bonding experience in a dog’s age.

That is, until recently, when a cute little guy named Jackson was our houseguest.

Since Jackson is a puppy, that made me his foster grandfather. And my wife, Sue, was his foster grandmother.

“I’m Poppie,” I said by way of introduction. “And this,” I continued, pointing to Sue and doing what the dog knew was a poor imitation of a pointer, “is Nini.”

Jackson barked to indicate he knew exactly what I was saying, which is more than I can say for most humans.

“He’s part Shih Tzu,” Sue told me.

“I can Shih that,” I told her.

“And part Schnauzer,” she added.

This explained why, for the duration of Jackson’s brief stay, I had the second-best mustache in the house.

The first guy thing we did was to watch a baseball game on TV. During the seventh-inning stretch, I told Jackson that his namesake, Reggie Jackson, has a mustache. The dog, who weighs only a few pounds, stretched in my lap but otherwise seemed unimpressed.

I also told him that I have been the human brother, father or grandfather of four dogs in my life.

My boyhood dog was Daisy, who cost the grand sum of one dollar. She was reportedly easier to housebreak than I was. Daisy was my first real friend and lived a long and playful life.

I got my next dog, Lizzie, after Sue and I were married. Lizzie cost a dollar less than Daisy and proved that the best things in life are free.

Lizzie was the sweetest creature God ever made. She also was so smart that she beat me — this is absolutely true — in a blackjack tournament.

Then there was our first granddog, Maggie, who had a spunky personality and a prodigious appetite. When it came to food, especially mine, which she constantly begged me to give her, Maggie was a canine vacuum cleaner.

Our present granddog is Opal, whom Jackson has met and likes. Opal is a lovable sweetheart and a real fashionista who has a better wardrobe than I do.

While I have enjoyed being a ladies’ man, I didn’t have a male delivery until Jackson arrived.

“OMG! He is so handsome and absolutely adorable!!!” my sister Susan gushed after I texted her a photo of me and the pooch.

My response: “Thank you. The dog is cute, too.”

Jackson, a man of few barks, was vocal in his reaction. I took it to mean that he laughed at my silly joke. Guys do that. Ladies — both human and canine — just roll their eyes.

But for all the masculine bluster, Jackson proved to be what Sue called a fraidy-cat because he didn’t like the cars that whizzed past when she took him for a walk.

“The correct term is fraidy-dog,” I said.

So we had to take Jackson in the backyard to do his business. Each time he did something, we gave him a treat.

“If I had a treat every time I did my business,” I said, “I’d weigh 500 pounds.”

Speaking of chewing, we thought Jackson, who is teething, lost a tooth.

“Is the Fang Fairy supposed to leave money under his pillow?” I wondered.

The three of us enjoyed watching “A Dog’s Purpose,” a fine family film based on the bestselling book written by my buddy W. Bruce Cameron, who co-wrote the screenplay.

Jackson gave the movie two paws up.

As with all good things, Jackson’s stay came to an end. He’s back home and Sue and I miss the little guy.

The male bonding was fun, but at least I once again have the best mustache in the house.

©2026 Tribune Content Agency, LLC