Barrett Fletcher strode into the room with a pasta strainer, ready to invoke his god. (WaPo)

I decided to train my dog to pray. He's a smart mutt; part terrier, part beagle, and part calypso song. His stumpy tail doesn't wag, it dances. 

First I taught him to sit, his haunches down and his front legs ramrod straight, with his head bowed. That seemed like the appropriate stance for a dog to address God. 

I pondered a long time about what to teach him to actually say. Dogs don't talk, not in our language. But they use growls and barks and whines to communicate their feelings to us all the time, so I began with that.

Oh, and his name is Towser. 

I began by getting him to sit in the praying position and then growling at him. When he growled back I rewarded him with a Milk Bone. Pretty soon he would automatically growl when he assumed the praying position. So I followed through using the same technique for whines and barks. 

In a few months I had Towser trained to say his prayers whenever I gave the command "Pray, Towser, pray!"

I never expected that Towser would be ministered to by angels, but one day they fluttered down from the sky to caress him and give him raw t-bone steaks. Then they flew back to heaven with him.

But I'm not all that lonely. Cuz I've got a cat. Named Mrs. Scratch. I'm going to teach her to curse.