It’s a breakthrough.

Those who follow this column and have read about Ollie already know of this coonhound’s independent streak. When on a scent he won’t listen, and when he’s off the scent he pretends to listen, but rarely does.

He’s got his plan. He doesn’t deviate from it unless, of course, food is involved. Then he might go out of his way to see what you have to offer.

But I’ve discovered a new word and a powerful motivator. Word is not exactly the description, because you won’t find this in the dictionary. It’s Ollie language, and it goes something like this ggurrrrrr. Well, this really doesn’t give you the impact of the word or how it is to be used. Inflection is critical. You need to start low with the “g” from the stomach, followed by the rumbling of the “rs” in your chest – a primitive call of the wild.

This is not a defiant roar, but rather a challenging call to battle. It’s sort of the dog version of the hunting horn that I’m sure awakens the genes of this dog, whose likeness can be found in English paintings of fields and hounds leading the chase as horsemen dressed in white pants and red jackets pursue on horseback.

I discovered the call quite by accident the other morning at breakfast.

An attentive Ollie is usually at my side waiting for the smallest crumb. His stare can be unnerving, and when he starts drooling that’s when I give in and put the plate on the floor. It makes no difference if it is as clean as when it came out of the washer; he licks it and licks it. Then he’s done his job and he knows breakfast is over.

But he wasn’t at his station this morning. I called. Nothing happened. I clanked the knife on the plate, figuring he’d get the message it was his turn to have the plate. Nothing.

“Have you seen Ollie?” I asked of Carol, who was in the kitchen.

“I think he’s still upstairs.”

I called again, only louder. Then for no reason other than I was running out of alternatives, I gave the growl.

I heard him scrabbling, the stampede down the stairs, and Ollie burst into the room. He skidded to a stop in front of me, tail up and head cocked as if to say, “How did you know that call?” His eyes were dilated. He was ready for the hunt.

“Well, go get it,” I challenged.

We’ve played this game many times and he knew exactly what I was saying. He raced into the living room, returning to look at me as if somehow things had changed. Seeing nothing had changed, he charged back upstairs, returning this time with a small section of rope with a knot at either end. It was his beloved pullie – he’s got four, but this is his favorite. It’s been chewed; has a distinctive doggy odor and can be as slimy as a snake. He was pushing the pullie into my side and growling.

He can sound amazingly fierce, and if you didn’t know better you would figure he would tear your hand off if you as much as touched the pullie. But it’s all about trying to take that little bit of rope away from him. Grab a hold of the rope, hold it securely, and between escalating growls, like a locomotive building a head of steam, he’ll rev up into a series of jerking motions that can pull you across the floor. For fun and to see if I might intimidate him, I gave him my growl. He kicked into overdrive.

“What’s going on,” an alarmed Carol shouted over the roar. One look and she figured it.

I let go of the pullie and Ollie trotted off triumphantly. But he was back as soon as I growled.

I added the growl to the repertoire of Ollie calls. Several days later I had the occasion to use it. He was in the yard. I called, then whistled, and finally clapped my hands, which has worked sometimes. No Ollie. Then I gave my best growl. The neighbors must have wondered. From nowhere he shot into view, eying me intently. I motioned to come inside. He just stood there just out of reach.

And then it occurred to me. I went inside and retrieved the pullie. That was it; he was ready, waiting. I waved the pullie. He stood his ground.

Yes, I’d gotten him to come, but clearly he wanted to play, not come inside.

Finally, I just tossed it, and he took of with delight.

I’m drawing the line at putting that thing in my mouth. Growling is enough.