There are several accepted personal opinions in our society that seemingly we all accept and live by. The first is that to each of us, our grandchildren are the cutest and our dogs are the smartest. In my case, this gets simpler because I have no grandchildren, so I can move directly to the dog in whose house I live. Actually, it is my wife’s dog, but as a team, they unofficially allow me to live there as long as I provide heat, cooling, shelter and food. So far the arrangement has worked out.

Although my wife often comments about how smart her dog, an English springer spaniel named Abbey, is, she completely ignores my view on the subject. I have often pointed out that Lassie and Rin-Tin-Tin were smart dogs. They both had real jobs on TV saving numerous children from danger and identifying bad guys weekly, normally doing so in less than 60 minutes with four commercial breaks. More importantly, they also earned a weekly paycheck, making money for their real owners. Now, that is what I call a smart dog. However, I must admit that recently on one of my many daily walks with Abbey — where she carefully decides exactly where to answer “nature’s call” — I noticed something that might be of value for her to consider as a professional career.

Our home sits on several acres of property and on every one of her “searches” for the perfect spot to do her duty, she pretty much checks out the entire property. It is easy to see the selection of the perfect place is something she takes very seriously. The deed is never done until all the bushes have passed the “smell” test and the bare lawn has been perfectly vacuumed with that constantly twitching nose as well. What really caught my attention was the fact that after all the searching and investigation of the perfect place we always wind up in the same place as we did the day before and the day before that. Abbey is like the navigation system in your car when you hit the Home Button except without the voice commands.

It occurred to me that maybe this talent of finding the exact same spot was Abbey’s hidden money-making secret and my job was to simply find the best application to put it to use. Remembering my fascination with pirate stories as a kid and the fact that I attended high school at nearby Williamsburg, home of the Blue Pirates, it seemed like a natural fit. Pirates were notorious for burying their treasure and ill-gotten gains and forgetting where they buried them or getting killed before being able to return, which resulted in the amount of buried and lost treasure still being sought to this very day. It appears to me that I have a unique opportunity for two business models using Abbey’s natural talent.

The first is to rent her out to any modern-day pirates who wish to bury treasure. I could rent out Abbey to go to the bathroom in any area the pirates choose and assure them she can return when desired to again find the exact same place — guaranteed. The problem with this option is I have not seen many pirate ships at either Canoe Creek or Raystown, so the number of available clients might be severely limited.

My second option is to rent Abbey out to treasure hunters who know the area they wish to search, but are not sure of the exact location. Again, Abbey can search the property and provide suggested search locations and for no additional charge, mark them appropriately with her personal signature deposit. Because no self-respecting treasure hunter really expects to find treasure on their first dig, I see multiple possible contracts with the same client and most of the checks will have cleared the bank before they actually get discouraged.

My wife may have been correct: Abbey may be a smart dog, if I can just find the right customer who is not as smart with the proper funds.

John Kasun writes from his home in Duncansville, where he is constantly searching for any money-making opportunity.