I skipped church the other day and instead took the dog down to Pritchard Park for an early morning walk on the shoreline.

It was a beautiful, soft morning, and Sophie and I were the only ones on the beach. I felt a little guilty about missing church, but if you don’t think that being on a beach alone with your dog in the peace and quiet of the early morning hours is a spiritual experience, then you probably need to get out a little more.

Sophie loves the beach, and seeing her happily gallop along the sand and splash in the water in hot pursuit of everything and nothing is both entertaining and oddly comforting, and I would take her to the beach for just those reasons alone.

But I also have an ulterior motive for wanting to make the dog happy; I’m secretly trying to get into her good graces so she will some day save my life.

Perhaps you saw the recent newspaper report of Buddy the German shepherd from Scottsdale, Ariz., who saved Joe Stalnaker’s life – not just once, but three times – by dialing 911 when Joe had a seizure and collapsed from a head injury suffered 10 years ago in a military training accident.

It turns out that Buddy was a trained assistance dog from a Michigan-based outfit called Paws with a Cause. Buddy had been trained to tap out 911 on Mr. Stalnaker’s specially designed telephone when his master needed help. Paramedics responded to Buddy’s most recent distress call and rushed Mr. Stalnaker to the hospital. Stalnaker is fully recovered now and in eternal debt to his dog.

Ever since I read this story, I’ve been making a conscious effort to curry favor with Sophie just in case I need her in an emergency.

My campaign to ingratiate myself with Sophie includes taking her for more frequent walks at her favorite places, and a noticeably more liberal policy on the handing out of treats for good behavior, or even fair behavior, with a half a treat for bad behavior so long as she displays remorse, regret or good penmanship.

Once I know for certain that Sophie is thoroughly committed to my continued existence, I’ll move on to part two of my anticipatory canine rescue plan, which involves occasionally faking a medical emergency such as a seizure or an accidental fall to see how she responds.

I may even simulate a total psychological breakdown complete with the rending of garments and the gnashing of teeth just to see if she can differentiate between medical and psychological emergencies.

I don’t expect Sophie to grab my cell phone and pound out 911, of course. I can barely dial 911 on the stupid little thing myself, and Sophie’s strength is not her fine motor skills.

I’ll just be happy if she barks when I feign my imminent demise, or if she rushes away to locate another member of the family, or attempts to revive me by licking my face or possibly snuffling around in my pockets, looking either for my medical alert bracelet or one of the little dog biscuits I’ve squirreled away as part of my doggy rescue training regime.

I know it may sound crazy to suck up to your dog as a preventive medicine strategy, but the adventures of Buddy and Joe Stalnaker are not the only documented cases of a dog saving his or her master. Who among us (and by us I mean you) doesn’t recall how many times Rin Tin Tin pulled Rusty’s clumsy behind out of the proverbial fire?

And can we ever forget the dozens of times Lassie managed to alert June Lockhart to the fact that Timmy had once again fallen into the abandoned well or gotten stuck in a old mineshaft? (I always thought that if I had been June Lockhart, I would have made Timmy carry a rope and a walkie-talkie with him at all times.)

My campaign to win the affection of my dog seems to be working. I fell asleep the other night watching a History Channel show on the invention of the cummerbund, and I was startled awake by Sophie sticking her cold nose in my ear.

I’m sure she was checking to see if I was OK, just making sure I hadn’t slipped into a coma or perhaps passed out from a bad donut. Now, if I can just get her to wear a keg of beer around her neck….

Islander Tom Tyner is an attorney

for the Trust for Public Land. He is author

of “Skeletons From Our Closet,”

a collection of writings on the island’s latte scene.