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“Gramps,” I said, “What’s the fourth dimension like?” It was a hot August afternoon, the kind where you only want to lie around and pant or drowse on the shady front porch.

I looked down the street. The heat ripples dancing silently above the pavement were the only thing moving. There wasn’t even a breeze to stir the leaves of the big oak standing above us.

Gramps gave a long blink, turned his head slowly toward me, and smacked his lips lightly. “Sonny,” he said, “Why would a coon dog be interested in the fourth dimension?”

I stretched my hind legs further out on the porch behind me and lowered my head to rest on my front paws to show my respect for his viewpoint, but I had no intention of backing down.

“I’m just curious,” I told him. He continued looking at me with that heavy gaze. Finally he gave a slow blink again, and I went on. “Sometimes in the evenin’s when you go over and sit on the front porch with Professor Cooley, doesn’t he talk to you about those kind of things?”

Gramps watched the heat waves do their street dance for a while.

“Sonny, humans just don’t think the same way we dogs do.” Gramps paused to see if I understood him. I raised my head a bit to show I was paying attention. “And lots of times when they seem to be talkin’ to somebody, they’re not really.”

“You mean,” I asked, “You mean like when a dog scratches, but he might not really be chasing a flea?”

“Exactly,” he said. “Sometimes it’s just somethin’ to do… to help a feller feel better. But with humans, it’s somethin’ they do to help them think better.”

I turned that over for a while, then asked, “Doesn’t Professor Cooley teach mathematics over at the college?”

Gramps’ eyes showed his amusement. “Lil’ Famous,” he said to me, “In a lot of ways you’re just like your Daddy. You’re young and strong, and every bit as good as your Daddy at treein’ a coon. But Big Famous didn’t get that name by layin’ around thinkin’. Nossir, he was the most famous huntin’ dog in this end of the state. He loved it. You’re like that, too. So don’t waste your time on understandin’ humans until you’re old and can’t do anything else. Be like your Daddy.”

“Daddy got his head clawed off by a bob-cat when he was just four,” I reminded him. Gramps’ eyes changed from amused to cloudy. I hadn’t meant to be so blunt.

After a while I asked again, “Gramps, what’s the fourth dimension like?” I wasn’t sure he was going to answer me, he waited so long.

“Do you know what the first three dimensions are?” he finally asked.

“I think so,” I told him. “I’ve thought about it some, and it would be like measurin’ this porch. It’s about twenty-five steps long, about eight steps wide, and maybe an easy jump high.”

Gramps’ eyes showed amusement again. “Looks like you have thought about this some, Lil’ Famous.” He paused a bit, then went on. “Since the first three dimensions are just measurements, then the fourth dimension is just a measurement, too.”

I know I must’ve looked blank. Measurement? I regarded the porch first in one direction, then the other. I tried cocking my head sideways. Even that didn’t help.

Measurement?

Walking over to the edge of the porch, I looked down. Still just an easy jump from the ground.

Gramps was looking the other way, panting lightly, paying me no attention.

Measurement? Puzzled, I ambled back to my spot and flopped down. “I can see how long the porch is, how wide it is, and how high it is, but what else is there to measure?

“Lil’ Famous,” he said, “How old do you reckon this porch is?”

This time I went even blanker than before. Why was he changing the subject? I decided to humor him.

“Well, Gramps, I heard you say once that they built this porch when you were a pup, so I guess it’s about fourteen huntin’ seasons old.”

Gramps nodded and blinked his eyes slowly. “And how old do you figure that porch across the street at Widow Hastings’ house is?”

Widow Hastings’ house was in sorry shape. I looked at it doubtfully. The porch was so bad that Sam, the collie pup from down the block, fell through it just last spring. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a porch that’s unsafe for dog or human to lie down on.

“Well, it must be a lot older than this porch.”

“How do you know that, Lil’ Famous?”

“It looks older.”

“Well, it’s not,” mused Gramps. “That porch was built the same season as this one; the Widow just hasn’t had anybody paint it or keep it up.”

“But Gramps, what’s that got to do with the fourth dimension?”

“Sonny, how long something exists IS its fourth measurement.”

“Oh, you mean,” I asked, “You mean these two porches have the same age, so they have the same fourth dimension?”

“No, Sonny. The porch we’re on probably has a longer time measurement. It’s painted and fixed up every couple of huntin’ seasons, so it’ll be standin’ when that one over there has been torn down and hauled away.”

“But we don’t know that for sure, do we Gramps? I mean, this one could burn down tonight, and that one over there might go on for two or three more seasons.”

“That’s right, Sonny. But by thinkin’ ahead and using good judgment, we can try to make things last longer.”

“Like staying home and learning about humans, instead of goin’ out and tanglin’ with bob-cats,” I said.

“Somethin’ like that,” Gramps conceded.

“Well, if that’s the fourth dimension, then what’s the fifth dimension like?”

“Lil’ Famous,” sighed Gramps, “We’ve talked enough about dimensions today. Ask about somethin’ else.”

“Sure, Gramps. How come humans talk to us dogs all the time but they never listen?”

“Maybe,” Gramps said dryly, “maybe we’d better talk about dimensions, after all.”