My daughter, Diana, has a gift for giving. You never know what to expect when a package arrives from Wyoming. Well, actually, you can expect to find some treats, usually something chocolate, and her latest cookies that are packed with so many wholesome ingredients that one is sufficient nutrition for a week. It’s the “other things” that come among with the dietary delights that frequently render surprise and, I wonder, perhaps a subliminal message as well.

Take, for example, the branding iron she sent me last year.

It was of heavy metal and custom crafted – the real McCoy. It is designed to be heated up to an orange glow on the outdoor grill and then used to singe the hamburgers, steaks and swordfish with its imprint. At least that’s what I imagine is its intended purpose. Or could it be something else she had in mind?

The brand is a “JH,” so fashioned that the upright of the J is the first column of the H. Of course they’re my initials, but they could also stand for Jackson Hole, where Diana and her family live.

It was nice to think I would be reminded of that beautiful part of the country as well as taking ownership to the barbecue. The novelty of branding dinner wore off quickly, and apart from being unique and really cool, I was wondering what other applications a searing shaft with the initials “JH” might have.

I don’t believe Diana had any other intended use than merely to get me thinking of what I might do with it. I tried the brand on a two-by-four. The wood smoked as I pressed the steel into it and once removed, there were the initials as black as coal. The next step was the oars to the dinghy and then the boat itself.

That was good enough. Diana would spot the brands when she and the family visited during the summer and know she had scored again with an unusual gift.

But the brand is child’s play to what arrived soon after my birthday. The timing was good because I already received a card – she’s gifted at picking those out, too – and I didn’t expect anything more. The card was a cartoon of a man sitting on a hotel bed with a phone to his ear.

The caption reads, “Yes, yes, yes, I miss you too, honey. Now put the dog on.”

The package was reinforced with clear packing tape, and sure enough the first of its contents were edible. They were hockey-puck sized linzer torts with a depression in the middle filled with raspberry jam. They were made with almond paste and chewy. Delicious, but after one you were full.

In the bottom of the box, wrapped in tissue, was a large brass ring with a leather strap. And on the strap were a series of brass bells. It looked to be a section of harness, and the wild thought crossed my mind that Diana was hinting I should get a horse. I played with that thought for an instant, concluding we have plenty on our hands with Ollie and a larger menagerie wouldn’t work, especially in Conimicut.

My guessing was put to an end by the card taped to the ring. I wasn’t far off. This device is intended for a pet, only rather than a horse, it was for Ollie.

The ring is to be placed over a door handle so that a dog can ring the bells when it wants to go out.

That’s right, this is a bell to be rung by a dog.

I guess this is something dogs in Jackson Hole do. The instructions were explicit without the slightest suggestion that this was a put on. The sheet included training instructions. As the dog prepares to go out, you make him ring the bells by tugging the leather strap. If the dog doesn’t catch on, you’re to smear cheese on the strap and then reward him with a tasty treat when he rings the bells. The next step is to put the treat outside and open the door when he rings.

Soon you will become a Pavlov pet owner – hear a bell, open a door.

The instructions suggest you bring the bells when you and your dog visit friends, and should you have to put your dog up for adoption, well, of course the bells go with him to the future owner.

Diana had done it again, she’d found the unusual and she had us both in hysterics.

But what to do with the bells?

We came up with the solution, and it was simple enough.

We looped the bells on the handle just as advised, and now they ring whenever we open the door.

Ollie has been conditioned to our arrival.

He bounds down the stairs to greet us.

And if a bell goes off, it’s our doing, not his.