Men who train their own hunting dogs usually develop enough savvy to produce, say, an English setter that will point and hold birds or a Labrador retriever that will find and fetch anything from a lost sock to retriever that will find and fetch anything from a lost sock to a snow goose.

If you’re a member of that August group, it’s safe to say you’re more than familiar with dog-training terms such as, “bumping,” “blinking,” “pottering,” “false pointing,” all of which describe undesirable behavior and are commonly punctuated with, “You #@&*!”

Of course you know annoyances of that ilk can be overcome by practicing patience and consistency. But let me ask you this: How successful have you been in overcoming the problem – perhaps I should say problems – of letting a pup coax its way onto your bed?

Can it be that all your vows, pledges and promises never to let the pup place so much as a paw on the bed were broken in the time it took to turn off the nightstand light? If so, you’re probably a pushover for dogs, period. Young or old, mutts or pedigreeds, they’re all special to you.

All well and good. But if you’re married to a woman who also is an absolute marshmallow when it comes to resisting a soft-muzzled, whimpering, tail-wagging “baby,” mister, all I can say is you have my sympathy.

Seriously, if you’ve made the mistake of taking a puppy onto your bed, it’s safe to say you and your wife have learned to live with about half the amount of sleep required for human beings.

Usually, it begins with the pup yelping, crying and clawing from inside the box or cage that he’s supposed to claim as his “territory.” Shortly thereafter, it ends with your spouse’s compassionate, “I’ll let him sleep on my side until he gets used to his new home.” So, with an I’ve-heard-that-before sigh, you roll over and fall asleep remembering the slogan used in a whiskey advertisement: “Some thing’s were never meant to change.”

Now, tell me if I’m wrong: No sooner were you carried away by the arms of Morpheus when your dreams were shattered by: “Wake up! Quick, he has to go out! Get him … Oh, God, get some paper towels and the spray cleaner under the sink – not in the bathroom, in the kitchen. How long have you lived here? Never mind. You take him out. I’ll do this. It’s a good thing you weren’t a mother.”

I may be wrong, but I’m willing to bet that while you’re stumbling around in the backyard mumbling “good boy” everytime the pup squats, you now and then glance up at the stars and wonder if it’s all worth it. Especially if it’s midwinter, below zero, and you’re knee-deep in snow.

Speaking from experience, I won’t hesitate to say you’ve been rousted from subliminal sleep more than once by the sounds of puppy teeth inscribing bedboards and the rhythmical, pumping regurgitations that precede upchucking God only knows what. For the uninitiated, when any of the aforementioned occurrences jolt you into groping consciousness, never step foot out of the bed without benefit of a light.

If you’ve had the pleasure of being owned by a few puppies, you know their collar sizes change quickly. Accordingly, the pup that slept comfortably on her side of the bed soon became a full-grown dog that sprawled wherever she wanted. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s amazing how a dog that can curl up on a handkerchief can uncurl to take up the entire foot of the bed, which, of course, leaves you and yours curled like pretzels.

Roll the dog off? Friend, you’d have better luck trying to roll the Rock of Gibraltar. The most you’ll get is an indignant groan and a dirty look. More often than not, it comes down to a matter of being damned if you do and damned if you don’t. If you manage to move the dog and get him lying lengthwise on the bed, his sack-of-grain weight pulls the blankets down, leaving two night-chilled, unhappy campers.

Thank God for summer. During that season of heat and humidity your prayers are answered when the dog seeks the cooler air settled near the floor. Once again you can sprawl and sleep comfortably. Want to bet? When the dog that has claimed your boudoir as his nocturnal retreat wants out, he’ll sit by the bed and grunt or whine his requests.

That’s if you’re lucky. If you’re not, you may be awakened by a whack from a paw that leaves welts on your hide. Worse yet, some dogs think it’s great sport to leap onto the bed and stomp and stumble all over you.

Naturally, the “little guy” you brought home becomes a “big guy” almost overnight. In fact, by the time you celebrate his first birthday, he has assumed the responsibility of defending his property and developed a bark that would intimidate Beowulf.

Now that’s just fine during the day. But when, in the wee hours, his bellowed warnings sit you straight up in bed with your hair standing on end, it takes a few heart-stopped seconds to realize you’re not about to be run over by a trailer truck or a train.

Believe me, Sport, I know the feeling. And I fully understand that, if you do manage to get back to sleep that night or any other such nights, you’ll drift into dreamland cursing dogs in general and vowing never to let another pup set foot into your bedroom – let alone put another paw on your bed.