“Everyone in their lifetime is entitled to one great dog,” said a friend.

I wondered if that the statement also applied to other animals and pets.

An uncle once owned a prized, well-trained sorrel mare — his one great horse. The uncle proudly showed her off to anyone who came to visit. The rule: No one rode the mare except the uncle. When nieces and nephews visited, he borrowed older bay geldings from the neighbors for the kids to ride around on the farm.

As for cats and cat owners, many related tales of what makes their cat a “one great cat” pet. From silly cat tricks to endearing cat aloofness to tales of cat kindness when the owner was laid up and the cat kept them company, cat owners shared memories of their one great cat.

The owner of one great parakeet remarked on the beauty of birdsongs her blue-and-green parakeet chirped.

All of the “one great pet” stories varied greatly, except for the “one great chicken” stories.

They had a universal ring, and the chicken story usually went like this:

“My one great chicken ate bread scraps and cracked corn from my hand. This hen followed me around the yard. I loved to pet her, and she was so tame I carried her around while I did chores. The family fell on hard times. I discovered my hen ended up in the Sunday dinner soup pot. I didn’t eat chicken for the rest of my childhood.”

My own “one great dog” story began as I ambled by myself through an arboretum in a forest. A row of Forest Service buildings bordered the arboretum, so I wasn’t concerned I’d get lost or hurt. In the afternoon, I heard a rustle in the underbrush. The noise stopped when I stopped, and continued when I walked.

I looked over at the buildings — not a vehicle or person in sight. I’d visited and tracked the trees in the arboretum for years and felt confident wild animals would have scattered if they’d heard me. I concluded whoever was following me was the two-legged sort. I raced to my car and left with the resolve I wouldn’t return until I had a dog with me.

The search for a dog went into high gear. I found an ad for a 7-month-old Australian shepherd pup. I drove there and spotted the dog on the front porch. He barked as I approached — a good watchdog bark.

While the owners recited the dog’s history, which dipped into reasons why the dog had had placements that “hadn’t worked out,” the dog came over to me and leaned against my leg while I rubbed behind his ears. Instant bonding. The dog seemed to say, “Get me out of here!”

And that’s how I got my “one great dog.” Only he wasn’t quite to the level of “great” initially. He stood frozen with fear with legs splayed out at noises such as car tires zinging through rain puddles. He barked and growled at other people and animals.

At the vet clinic, the staff tossed me a muzzle to put on the dog before they’d enter the room. The results of the exam: “insecure dog probably as a result of prior abuse.”

An ad flyer in a pet store caught my attention. I signed the dog up for obedience training.

The first day of class, he spent time in “timeout.” By the second class, he turned out to be a star pupil. If someone asked me what was an outstanding characteristic of my dog, I would have said, “Gentle.” For all his bluster, he was a gentle dog, especially with me. The next great characteristic I noticed — how intelligent he was. He functioned at levels beyond dog species.

In obedience training, my dog aced beginning, intermediate and advanced levels. He was a devoted companion pet. With patience and training, he transformed to my “one great dog.”