We all think our children are smart. And it appears the same goes for our pets.

I once knew someone who owned a chihuahua so dim, it almost needed a personal assistant to escort it from one room to the next. It was terribly inbred. Fudgie reminded me of the banjo player from Deliverance -- only he couldn't play the banjo.

Despite all, the micro-brained chihuahua's abilities were held in tremendously high regard by his owner. Any of Fudgie's behaviours, no matter how inane, were regarded as evidence of superior intellect. If the dog started biting your toe, his eyes all crazily askew, she would say, "Oh Fudgie, thanks for protecting Mommy!" Or if he was lying on a newspaper, tongue sticking out to one side, she'd say: "Oh, Fudgie, you're such a great paperweight!" (OK, that's a slight exaggeration.)

Anyway, sometimes I think Ollie the Pug is smart. Other days, well . . . not so smart.

For instance, my wife has trained Ollie to play the piano. Of course, he doesn't really play. He scrambles up to the piano on his hind legs and whacks at the keys with his front paws. And that's only if you hold a sliver of freeze-dried liver in front of him. Still, in the world of dogs, it's fairly impressive stuff -- perhaps the equivalent of the fellow who can recite The Wreck of the Hesperus by heart, or the yoga expert who wraps both legs behind her head.

On the flip side, Ollie also chases his tail. He'll twist around and, to his utter amazement, notice this curled, furry thing. It will enrage him, as though some villain sneaked up behind him -- perhaps in his sleep -- and glued an unsuitable appendage to his body.

Ollie will growl, then give chase. He is never quite able to capture his fuzzy nemesis. Does that discourage him? No.

Tail-chasing always seems to me proof-positive of a low doggie IQ. It's like when you meet someone new at a party. The person seems likable, attractive, intelligent. And then he or she pulls a "tail-chaser," that is, says something that lowers your estimation of their intellect.

It might be: "Boy, you know, I really enjoy reading the Family Circus comic strip." Or "My favourite singer? Definitely Céline Dion." Or "Gosh, I just read Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. And hands-down, she is the greatest author ever." Or "I don't know much about art, but I just adore all those painted eagle statues in downtown Victoria."

Why not cut through the chit-chat and simply a wear a sign that says, "My brain is the size of a pumpkin seed"?

Perhaps I'm being too harsh. There may be Céline Dion fans who hold PhDs in microbiology. And I freely confess to doing all kinds of stupid things myself, such as tuning into Dancing With the Stars or watching the movie Super Trooper repeatedly.

Nonetheless, the tail-chasing caper got me wondering as to how bright Ollie really is.

With this in mind, I found a website with a dog IQ test. The test must be scientifically valid, because it was created by "pet expert" Warren Eckstein of The Today Show.

For the first experiment we put a blanket on Ollie's head. Top score if the dog escapes in 15 seconds. Fifteen seconds went by. Then 30. No movement.

"Oh man," I said. "Is he asleep?"

Ollie did much better on the other tests, though. For another one, you show your dog a treat, then stick it under one of three buckets. You then turn your dog so he's facing the other way. After that, if he goes to the treat bucket, he passes. Ollie passed.

We tallied up his score at the end. Ollie the Pug did quite well. He's no Lassie. But he's no Fudgie, either.

My wife then noticed an IQ test for human beings on the computer.

"Hey, I've got an idea," she said. "Why don't you take an IQ test, too?"

"That's OK," I said. "I think I have the kind of intelligence not easily tested. You know. Emotional intelligence. Or intuitive intelligence. I forget which."

My wife's Mona Lisa expression was difficult to read. Ditto for Ollie the Pug. For he'd now fallen asleep, his tongue lolling to one side.

achamberlain@tc.canwest.com