I am owned by a dog. Bad grammar, the passive parsing? Poor choice of words? I might have written, “My dog owns me.” It is a moot point because the truth is that my 5-year-old spayed female Scottie does own me, no matter how I phrase it.

Scottish terriers have been a part of our family for over 30 years. This is the fourth to own me. But never, in the succession of four-legged creatures that have passed through our domicile has there been a canine like Maxine. She has, as my spouse wryly noted, as much influence on our daily lives as we have on each other’s.

Maxine is sui generis in the best Scottish tradition.

Fiercely loyal, she is independent, alert, dignified, wonderfully wise, alternately stubborn, maddening, eternally beguiling: that begins to describe Maxine.

I should have foreseen Maxine’s feisty personality when I picked her from a litter of six. She was the pup with pizzazz, literally bouncing across the floor of the pen where we observed the puppies at play. The three-and-a-half-pound menace slept like an angel in my lap for the long ride home. She woke as we entered Roanoke’s city limits and has been wide awake and active since.

Early home training sessions proved minimally fruitful but she did pass a rigorous Obedience Class run by an expert in the city. Her heeling, sitting and staying powers remain intact today, tempered always by her own whims and moods.

I have long been captive to the Scottie mystique and magic. I appreciate their controlled diffidence and feelings of superiority. Maxine’s joy is deliriously spontaneous and contagious; her sulks are black and brooding but mercifully short-lived. Because she has come to be our late-in-life child, Maxine does not believe she is a dog. Her response to “Come!” brings guaranteed results only when followed by the word, “Treat!” Bribes? You betcha, but in my day, time is of the essence. If it gets results, bribes work.

Maxine’s vocabulary is not limited to the aforementioned word ‘treat.’ She knows Mother, Daddy, water, eat, kitchen, crate, ride, ‘Baby’ and goes berserk if she hears ‘cat.’ She also knows her colors, nimbly picking out favorite “Greenie” from a basket of stuffed toys. Our house normally looks as if a 2-year old romped through it. Toys, rugs, pillows are scattered to the wind. If our canine is not doing daily zoomies she is tossing stuffed toys in order to retrieve them again.

Being owned by a Scottie definitely has tangible benefits. The first, of course, is the reciprocated, unconditional love one receives from a non-judgmental being. Another is the daily exercise this small animal demands. Ignore the fact that we have a fenced back-yard: Maxine has trained my husband and me to take two daily walks. With her leashed beside us, of course. She prances along, obviously aware and proud of her classy Scottie profile. It is not unusual to be stopped by admiring strangers.

Another benefit is the fact that every person who has ever met Maxine knows of a new product out there that I simply must have. Consequently, I sleep in Scottie pajamas and throw on a Scottie bathrobe. I have Scottie belts, undies, earrings, pins, scarves and socks. I wash with Scottie soap and dry my hands with towels festooned with tartan Scotties. I carry a Scottie umbrella and walk on a Scottie rug. I read Scottie books and magazines, and naturally include a Scottie in the books I write. I have more Scottie pillows than our home can happily accommodate but I love each one and can’t part with any. I sip wine from hand-painted Scottie glasses and then dry these same glasses with Scottie dishtowels. I carry a needlepoint Scottie purse and sport a handsome Scottie sweater.

At Christmas, I make Scottish shortbread with an antique Scottie cookie cutter and, time permitting, tie red ribbons around the neck of each Scottie. I adorn Scottie plates with these and licorice Scotties.

Maxine bears this with her usual aplomb. A dear friend sent me a 2004 Scottie “Mac Calendar.”

Each new day brings a nugget of Scottie wisdom that further convinces me that I am one of the fortunate to be possessed by a Scottie. . .particularly one named Maxine.