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OK, let's remember. Benson is a dog, no matter what he thinks you ought to think. He's a big-ish Miniature Schnauzer with the same goofy haircut all of his kin seem to affect, fuzzy at both ends and high-and-tight in between. He's bright, bossy, opinionated, demanding, and spoiled, a bit of a softy, an eternal teenager and an aggressive defender of his turf. He sees himself as a ladies man. He has his "papers" and retains all his original issue equipment and attitude. And, he writes, sort of. Make that "he dictates" in more ways than one to his human, Mari K. Eder. He calls her "Mama," because she's the Alpha dog in his pack, but he aspires greatly to his rightful status as Head Dog. All this is reflected in his monthly letters to his "grandparents," the North Carolina couple who were his breeders and caregivers. The letters are whimsical, autobiographical, filled with fantasy, wonder, and the reality of life as a geographically-circumscribed house dog.