Barley, a dog, trots past some tall trees in a pleasantly park-like environment. When Barley lived in Florida, there were the thickets of swamp shrubbery that, thanks to the climate, had a great deal more jungle caché than the more coniferous flora in her current home. Within days of first discovering them, she had worked out which parts of the wall of leaves would offer no resistance, and had mapped out for herself a handful of shortcuts through that underbrush. When she got zoomies and would tear around the yard, she’d charge headlong into the thicket at a handful of spots and emerge on the other side a second later having lost none of her momentum. These paths were too low and too narrow for even a child to crawl through comfortably, so I had no chance of being able to accompany her on one of those tunnel runs. I say all this because it occurs to me that this sort of slightly woodsy park is probably the closest she and I will ever get to sharing a trot off the path and through the underbrush. Given that I can’t really trust her off leash, especially if she’s happy to go where I can’t follow, I’m left to wonder about the evergreen speederbike chases she might get up to if I wasn’t there to keep her out of trouble.

Barley, a dog, trots along the base of a brand-new fence, whose overlapping boards have the yellow gleam of wood that has not yet spent much time in the sun. There’s something exciting about most “new” thing. Being in a brand new car, even a relatively modest one, feels like stepping into the hyperreality of film. A new phone or new computer has a crisp cleanness that feels full of potential. Even new furniture is a big exciting. But I’ve never felt that way about outdoor structures made of unfinished wood. This fence doesn’t so much look new to me as it looks raw. My mind slightly recoils with the precise distaste I feel for those semi-raw “bake them the rest of the way at home” loaves of bread some supermarkets will sell you. The fence is still underbaked, but not for long, if this summer sun has anything to say about it.

Barley, a dog, look plaintively through a living room window at the photographer, her paws daintily positioned on the back the sofa she is half-standing, half-sitting on. When visiting my parents, there’s routinely a to-do list of yard work they ask me to assist with, mostly involving cutting back the very highest branches of various trees using a comically long pole pruner. If there’s no one left in the house when I go outside without her, Barley often keeps anxious tabs on my movements, her paws resting on the back of the sofa as you see them here.

Juniper, a dog, happily (if sleepily) chills atop the sofa by the window, as is her want, at the edge of a wide show portraying her living room. After a hard day’s work protecting and patrolling the homestead, Juniper loves nothing more than to be with her people as they watch some light television. She is, however, only sometimes a snugglebug. Just as often, she keeps her distance and chills somewhere elevated that she can lie down and keep an eye on everyone. Be a shame to lose that high-ground advantage, after all.

Barley, a dog, trots happily alongside the curb of a street with green gardens but no sidewalks. The presence or absence of sidewalks feels very arbitrary among the streets where Barley often walks. Frome one block to the next, they end just as abruptly as they begin, sometimes only lasting a fraction of a block. Of course, traffic is very light anyway, so this doesn’t pose a particular hazard to dog walkers like myself, so long as I remain vigilant. Perhaps the reason for this inconsistency is one of the mysteries bestowed upon a person when they become a homeowner.

Barley, a dog, sniffs among some greenery. Above her someone has suspended a stormtrooper helmet from Star Wars on a branch. Word is, deer have been encroaching further and further into the surrounding neighborhoods as developers figure out ways to turn the steepest, most uneven plots of land in the area into additional homes. I presume this cinematic icon was put in the yard in the hopes of giving them pause. Much as it startled me the first time I turned the corner and saw it, it doesn’t seem to have alarmed Barley one bit. I doubt she even recognizes it as face- or head-like.

Barley, a dog, lies in the sun on a love seat, atop an incongruously vivid fleece throw depicting brightly colored lizards. Barley’s a very light shedder, and my parents don’t go too far out of their way put protections in place, but one step they always take is to tuck in a throw blanket on the sofa and loveseat, because the seat cushions aren’t well suited to getting laundered. This has revealed a pretty dramatic array of fleeces that I had never realized they owned, presumably purchased at clearance prices during some sale or another over the years.

Barley, a dog, tromps her way through a row of small white flowers in someone’s yard. As I’ve documented before, Barley is disinterested in flowers to a comical degree. They are, by far, the yard plants she finds least compelling. Ironically, this means I need to pay more attention when she’s near them, because humans do care quite a bit for the flowers in their yard, and she could do quite a bit of damage if she were given free reign to stampede through them to get at the more interesting woody shrubs that provide their backdrop.

Barley, a dog, awakens briefly from a snooze on the futon, opening an eye but otherwise remaining as she is. Her paw is propped up on a throw pillow in a way that strikes the photographer as a tad uncomfortable. In addition to setting herself down wherever when she decides it’s nap time, Barley will sometimes exhibit a slightly liquid tendency to slide down the sides of whatever she is resting on. In this instance, she started out lying atop the pillow, and only later turned her shoulder a bit to wedge her face between the pillows. Her paw merely stayed behind when she did so.

Barley, a dog, trots along an unpaved path beside of fringe of wet leaf litter. Through the sparse foliage, the reflective surface of a slow-moving river is just barely visible. Barley can swim, but is not what I would describe as a confident swimmer. She’ll happily splash around in ankle deep water on a hot day, but if compelled to swim out into open water (say, in pursuit of a thrown ball), her eyes go real wide the moment she starts dog-paddling and stay that way until she can feel the bottom again. Mind you, she’ll still swim out to where the ball is, get it, and come right back, but that overtone of panic is hard to ignore. As such, I’ve not gone out of my way to give her chances to frolic in the water. She seems much more in her element on dry land.

Juniper, a dog, sniffs curiously beneath the countertop of a kitchen where there is both a big pot of soup cooking on the stove and an Instant Pot simmering on the counter. Whereas Barley is good in the kitchen mostly because she has close to no concept that surfaces above her eyeline can harbor unseen objects, Juniper is good in the kitchen because she wants very badly to be a good girl and hasn’t been given permission to investigate. You can tell the difference because Juniper’s sniffy investigations are much more directed: She knows something is going on in the kitchen, and she has a pretty good idea where.

Barley, a dog, sleeps with her face smashed into a folded throw blanket, such that it has ended up wrapped around her face like a soft taco. I had that post from a couple days ago in mind when I happened upon this photo from a few years ago. Just in case you were harboring any suspicions that Barley was actually some sort of comfort genius, her strategy really has always been “just put me anywhere, I’ll figure something out.”

Barley, a dog, puts her face way into a stand-alone shrub, giving the impression that she has a giant green sea urchin for a head. Barley of course needs to sniff just about every free-standing landmark that’s at dog’s-eye level, since those are very likely places for interesting smells left by other dogs. Occasionally, though, she puts her head way into a shrub and leaves it there for quite a while. This invariably makes me nervous, despite it never having resulted in a bad outcome that I can recall.

Barley, a dog, sleeps with her body below the shoulder on her dog bed, her head resting on a stuffed toy, and her wrist supported by a different stuffed toy, resulting in a coincidentally perfect ergonomic arrangement. Barley is, strictly, not a tool user. There are objects that she’ll do things to, but she won’t ever use one object on another object. This extends to maintaining her comfort: She has a very hard-wired “dig and twirl” routine that she uses to soften up a surface if it’s not soft enough or too lumpy, but she has never arranged herself a comfortable nest in any more purposeful fashion. Sometimes, however, she lucks into lying down in such a way that the objects already present enhance her comfort. The level of ergonomic support she is receiving in this photo is a rare thing as it is, and is only made possible by how many of her toys I leave lying around at all times.

Barley, a dog, lies on some patchy grass with a stick, with another dog nearby. Both dogs are looking expectantly toward the left side of the frame. My favorite period during one of Barley’s play dates is the point where both pups are pretty pooped and agree to take a breather. These moments of calm are generally short-lived - we see the dogs perking up at the sound of someone approach the gate ino the yard - but they’re a welcome indication that both dogs feel comfortable hanging out with one another. It’s just nice to know Barley has friends.

Barley, a dog, reclined blissfully on her belly, revealing the pink skin of her belly and a handful of age spots. As Barley has gotten older, she’s begun to show some scattered age spots on the skin of her belly, where her fur is no more than a veil of downy wisps. The vet assures me that these are perfectly normal and no cause for concern, but they nevertheless serve as a reminder that the tanning Barley shows on her belly every summer is in response to cellular damage. Fortunately, because her belly is so visible, and because she’s so keen on having people rub it, there are lots of opportunities to inspect her skin and catch anything worrying as early as possible.

Barley, a dog, stands on a concrete bench and faces toward the right side of the frame, as if noticing something from her elevated vantage point. Barley isn’t usually one to jump onto benches, but if the bench is sufficiently wide and flat, she’ll sometimes pop up on top of it to sniff at some alluring smell she can’t quite reach from the ground. This usually results in her taking a pause and scanning her surroundings. I get the impression that it would never occur to her to seek the higher ground in order to see further, and that the perspective gained from being up high comes as a little bit of a surprise.

Juniper, a dog, lies on her side on an overstuffed sofa beneath windows whose light is softened by sheer white curtains. As much as I love to see Barley sleeping on her side with her belly exposed, I love to see Juniper do it more. She’s such a nervous and vigilant dog, and I gain great peace of mind from knowing that even she can find herself those all-important moments of serene, restorative sleep.

Barley, a dog, walks along a sidewalk, past a sign pole. The edge of the sidewalk, the orientation of the sign pole, and the angle of the siding on the building in the background, are all out of alignment with one another. Speaking of wanting to correct photo orientation, I was totally flummoxed by this seemingly innocuous photo of Barley. It’s a cute dog trottin’ along on a sunny day! What’s not to like? Well, try and find a right angle anywhere in the frame. The siding on the building’s going one way, the sidewalk’s going the other, and neither agrees with the sign pole! I think what’s happening is that the building’s siding is crooked and the sidewalk is actually angled away from the wall slightly, which is harder to see because of the ivy. In the end, I figured the pole was my best bet for judging which way is down. Just goes to show that an innocent photo snapped without a second thought can become a real mystery during post-processing.

Barley, a dog, is lying on her back on the futon, gently smiling at the camera. The photo is rotated 90 degrees from real, and Barley’s pose bears a striking resemblance to a young woman doing a flirtatious hair flip. I’m normally a stickler for keeping photos oriented with respect to True Down, but my camera got confused when I took this photo and didn’t rotate the frame. I’m so pleased with how this photo looks in portrait mode that I’ve chosen not to correct it. I’m not sure what the ad agency she’s working for is trying to get me to buy, but it’s working!