WHAT’S SO FUNNY: Dog-day afternoons hunting lizards

It’s generally accepted that dogs benefit from having an everyday job, something to occupy time that would otherwise be spent with their chins on the floor, looking glum.

When I was a boy I had a cocker spaniel named Tippy who didn’t have enough to do. He felt it his daily duty to bark at the mailman, but having barked he was through for the day, and time dragged. He’d be the last to deny that he eventually put on weight.

Our first Laguna dog, a keeshond named Sashi, also suffered in this regard. Her ancestors were Dutch barge dogs and accompanied their masters up and down river, but we live high and dry on a hill. Although she guarded the house and was faithful and true, I know sometimes she felt underemployed.

Now we have Booker, a 3-year-old Welsh springer spaniel. His breeding inclines him to be a finder, a sniffer-out, a vigilant hunter’s helper. As it happens, I don’t hunt anything bigger than June bugs.

But last year he and I got into the habit of inspecting the back yard for lizards. We’d find one sunning himself on a wall, and Booker would chase him and he’d run away. Good times.

Sometimes I gave Booker a treat afterward, but I soon realized he wasn’t in it for the paycheck. He’d found his calling. He was a dog who went lizard-hunting with Dad.

We never seemed to catch them, and Dad wouldn’t let him eat the dead ones he found, but still, it was instinctively satisfying. He was on patrol. He had a job.

Now, a year later, he’s on his way to monomania.

Every time I walk into the kitchen he goes to the side screen door. I’m expected to accompany him out and around the back of the house while he inspects the walls, the bushes and the tool shed, behind the water bottles, under the steps and in the planters — wherever a lizard might be, wherever a lizard has ever been. We’re not only supposed to do it several times a day, but we’re supposed to do it exactly the same way.

He won’t do it alone. I’ve left the back door open for him to use on his own, but it’s no fun that way. He’s a team player and, to him, I’m a bit of a slacker. Every moment I spend at my desk is time lost while the reptiles run free.

We’re trying to get him to find a hobby and not just work-work-work all the time. He chases the squeaky ball when I throw it, but after he picks it up he carries it in his mouth while he shows me how he looks for lizards.

I know I encouraged him, and he loves his job, and it’s good that he’s not bored.

But it’s not good for man or dog to become so single- minded, so we hope to reroute his brain this winter when the lizards go to sleep.

Perhaps we can interest him in a game of Find the Keys, or Hunt the Clicker. He’s not suited to golf.