They say dogs and their owners share personalities.

The traits of the master will - sooner or later - be passed on to the canine. They say if you come to know the quirks of the owner, his or her attributes and imperfections, you'll see the same in Rover or Spot.

Hmmm. Before, I would have told you this is nonsense, that dogs are dogs and people are people, that dogs don't take on human qualities. We are a higher species. We are intelligent.

That was before we adopted Beethoven.

Today, as I stand before you, I'm here to say it's true. Not only do dogs over time take on the personalities of their bosses, I'll go one further. I'll testify there is a correlation between their physical well-being, too.

Allow me to explain.

We adopted Beethoven, a border collie mix, from the Kootenai Humane Society a year ago along with a black lab named Kelli.

Now, if I were asked to describe Beethoven, I would use one word: wired. Despite being 11 years old, he's full of energy, just like a little kid. He's often out of control, sometimes just plain nuts, never wants to sit still, and will at times, drive you crazy because he can be annoying with his relentless ways. Yet, he's also got a good heart, is loyal and best of all, he loves to run.

Now, if you asked my wife to describe me, you would likely get much the same. Not kidding. Just ask her.

But the connection runs deeper.

Physically, we have both made miraculous recoveries from injuries, over a similar period of time.

Consider: On Nov. 23, the night of the downtown parade, fireworks and holiday light show, Beethoven and our other two dogs got out of the backyard when I failed to latch the gate properly.

A quick search after we arrived home turned up Kelli and our other dog, Barkley, not far from our house.

But Beethoven took longer to track down. When our son Ray and nephew Daniel found him about six blocks away, he was limping badly, frightened and had numerous cuts and scrapes. It looked like he had been hit by a car. When I got a look at him, I didn't think he'd survive. He winced when we touched his ribs, was breathing heavily, and seemed to be in shock. We gingerly loaded Beethoven in the van and drove him late that night to our vet, Bob Erickson at Mountain View Veterinary Clinic. There, Bob looked him over, pronounced he had no broken bones and said his heartbeat was strong. Beethoven would be sore for a while, Bob said, but he would recover.

Did he ever.

Over the following weeks, there was a transformation. Beethoven learned to rest, to relax. He had to lay there on the couch (poor bugger). His life of leisure benefited his health. He went from barely walking, cringing, hurting and yelping, to bounding, jumping, running and once again, happily hanging his tongue out in anticipation of treats.

He is the Beethoven of old, a kid at heart.

I share a similar story.

I've been battling a bum right knee since early this year. Wrecked it playing basketball, compounded it by running. The old knee just would not return to normal and I wondered, would it ever? It did, kind of. It recovered in time for me to run the Seattle half marathon Thanksgiving weekend, but after that? Ouch. Sharp pain. I'm kind of a baby, but this hurt. Really. I couldn't walk up or down steps. I hobbled and gimped when I tried to run. Hell, it got to the point I stumbled and shuffled through two excruciating miles and thought, enough. This really is stupid.

So I listened to my wife.

For several weeks, I stopped running. I rested. I iced the knee at night. I rubbed arnica oil on it each morning.

Know what?

My knee is back. No aches. I'm running free and easy. I'm zipping down the streets again. When it snowed Wednesday night, I gleefully dashed to Tubbs Hill and charged wildly up and down trails, the white snow showing the way. Glorious. It was wonderful. I felt like a kid again.

Yep, I'm back.

And Beethoven is back.

We're feeling frisky again. We're bouncing around the house once more. We're ready to kick butt. No stopping us. We're saying no to old age. Man and his best friend ready to take on the world. God, this is going to be great.

My poor wife.

Bill Buley is city editor of The Press. He can be reached at 664-8176, ext. 2016, or [email protected].