It's something people say every time a dog bites a stranger: "There are no bad dogs. Only bad owners."

They never met Bert.

Bert wasn't "Marley & Me" bad. He was evil. Like Linda Blair in "The Exorcist." He had those eyes. He never levitated or spun his head around - in front of me.

But he would drag me by a leash around the neighborhood, snapping at small children and wagging his tail whenever a really scary man walked by.

Bert had issues. His mother was surly, but who wouldn't be with owners who shrieked "Midniiiiiiiiiiiite" at dinner time? Midnight had a fling with a big bad brute down the block and had a bunch of puppies that weren't exactly cute, but they were "free to a good home."

I had a good home. And what it needed was a guard dog. Bert.

I'm not a "bad owner." I just don't have it in me to boss an animal around. All that training. I don't sit when somebody yells at me, so why should I bark commands at a four-legged friend?

That's the difference between my sister and me. She hates cats because they won't do what she says. Well, of course not.

So Bert and I weren't meant to be.

He now lives at a junkyard with a bunch of crotchety old men who love big, bad dogs who levitate.