Barley, a dog, walks past some red and yellow tulips, surrounded by ornamental lavender, paying none of it any mind whatsoever. A fun thing about evolution is that it’s always everything at once. Flowers, for example, need to be as visible as possible for the animals that they rely on to get pollinated, but also need to be as camouflaged as possible with respect to other animals that might do them harm in some way. I pondered this dynamic as I reflected on how nondescript a red tulip must look to Barley, just a darker blob amid the gray of the leaves. “Nothing to see here,” the flowers seem to say. “Should you need to do some recreational digging, please consider other patches in the neighborhood than this one.” (Not that this applies to the yellow tulips, which should be quite visible to her, or to any of the floral smells, which Barley is experiencing with an intensity I will never understand.)

Barley, a dog, sniffs intently along a margin of dead leaves between some grass and some shrubbery. Given the amount of rain we get through the winter months, I remain sort of fascinated by the durability of leaf litter. I don’t doubt that all sorts of good decomp is happening to the benefit of flora and fauna alike, there’s still a lot of leaves that seem not to have changed all that month. Is it more that there’s a crisped outer layer, a bit like a crème brûlée, where leaves at the top get dried out by the sun while the moisture remains in the dark layers beneath? Does this stratification hold up in the face of a season’s worth of wind gusts? I guess what I’m asking is, just how worried should I be that Barley’s going to find something truly dicey under all those leaves? 😅

Barley, a dog, writhes enthusiastically on her back on a mossy lawn amid scattered sticks and leaves. It’s still technically Spring, but we’re definitely getting our share of Summer days, and Barley is taking a lot more opportunities to give her belly its requisite dose of Vitamin D. It also helps that the grass is now much more frequently the right kind of dry to be a cool, soothing bristle brush on her back. If it’s a sunny day and there’s plenty of grass around, I can generally count on one solid wiggle per proper walk.

Barley, a dog, faces left and looks up at something out of frame. This highlights her very fetching profile. People say all kinds of things when they say hi to Barley on the street, but one of the clearest generation gaps I’ve noticed is that dog enthusiasts who are under thirty are fairly likely to praise she shape of her head. “I love your dog’s big head!” a teenager recently declared from a distance as I walked past their house. Meanwhile, dog enthusiasts over the age of thirty almost never do so. My hunch is that this reflects a stark contrast in which age cohort has a stronger prejudice against pit bulls. The kids are alright, it seems: They’ve largely seen past the dog-whistle politics that labels pitties and mutts as “dangerous” compared to expensive purebreeds. They don’t think Barley is a lovely dog in spite of looking rather pitty, but because of it. If social media has done any good thing in the last 20 years, it might have been showing a generation how sweet and goofy pitbulls are across countless photos and videos.

Barley, a dog, inspects a dummy owl that won’t be scaring away too many prey animals now that it has fallen face-down in the grass. Far from their reputation as purveyors of sagely wisdom, owls are really more like feathered guided missiles to the various animals they prey upon, so it makes sense that a dummy owl would be an effective scarecrow to its prey. I like to imagine other ‘scarecrow animals’ that one could mount in one’s yard. Perhaps one might hang a life-sized fiberglass shark from one’s balcony to chase off those pesky harbor seals. Or rig up one of those car dealershop inflatable tube guys to look like a mongoose and scare of snakes. Or maybe, maybe, get perfect replica goat to stare down your lawn so it doesn’t get any ideas.

Barley, a dog, pops her head up from lazing on the futon because the viewer is looking at her, triggering a staring contest motivated by the hope that something is about to happen. Barley very much lives among the humans in her surroundings, party to their activities. She’s not really able to “entertain herself” beyond slipping into the land of dreams. If she’s bored, she seeks you out. If you’re doing anything, she needs to keep an eye on what it is. As such, whenever it strikes me to turn and face her, she becomes quite interested. “Is something happening?” I suspect she is thinking. She would absolutely be down for something happening, pretty much all the time.

Juniper, a dog, holds her beloved squirrel toy in her mouth as she eyes the camera with considerable intensity. With all this talk of Juniper’s tiny chipmunks, which I mistook for squirrels, I felt the need to remind everyone that Juniper also has a squirrel. It is much beloved, an object that she insists on protecting. Sometimes, she will see the squirrel out for comfort, but usually, someone else retrieves the squirrel, and it then becomes Juniper’s mission to bring it to a place of safety and security (usually, her crate). She does not bring the squirrel outside. Only world-hardened mad lads like her monkey get to accompany her on her patrols of her territory.

Barley, a dog, stands amid a sea of vividly green grass, extending past the edge of the frame on all sides. Photographing Barley while walking her means most shots are aimed downward, and this reflects my experience as her dog-walker. Just as her world is narrowed to a radius of compelling smells, I too find that the wider world slips from my attention, so keenly must my focus remain on spotting things she shouldn’t be allowed to investigate. It’s a bit like having one’s attention pass through a fish-eye lens, making the grasses and shrubs and tree trunks of Barley’s world balloon out around us, while the branches, clouds, and sky above recede into one’s blind spot.

Barley, a dog, investigates the leaf litter on a sunny day. Above her, a paper charm hangs from a tree. It reads, in a hand-written script, “I’m glad that you paused here, this was made for you.” This is the 400th Barley post on this account (not counting the 67 Juniper Friday posts to date), and this seems like as good a time as any to say thank you. As much as these posts offer the opportunity for a kind of journaling, my main aim is to share this creature with any and all who would delight in her sincere goofiness. It’s a way to put some uncomplicated good into a world that feels overrun with ulterior motives. So if you’ve chanced upon a Barley Post in the past and paused for a moment, thank you. This was made for you.

Barley, a dog, examines a sidewalk chalk drawing of cartoon dog Bluey, from the show of the same name. By all accounts, Bluey is a triumph of children’s television, a work of considerable quality that embodies values and thoughtfulness in a way that even television for adults often doesn’t bother including among its aspirations. But seeing this photo, my main thought is: Isn’t kinda weird how Bluey is pretty much a photo negative of Barley? Try it for yourself, invert the colors on this photo, and see just who becomes blue!

Barley, a dog, snuffles at the edge of the goat enclosure. A goat, for once, seems interested! The goats generally have zero interest in Barley on way or another. I think the recognize that dogs are creature that will never, ever feed them a snack through the fence. So imagine my surprise when Barley approached, and this goat approached with clear intent! It didn’t take long to realize why: A previous passer-by had given the goats some popcorn, and a few remaining pieces lay on our side of the fence. Barley managed to snag a few, but I was hardly going to leave the goat hanging, so I managed to snag a couple additional pieces before Barley got to them and passed them through the fence.

Barley, a dog, steps between two posts marking a properly line, stepping on grass that’s just a little bit more lush and unkempt than the yard she is leaving. I feel like so many of these posts are opportunities to reflect on things I understand that Barley does not, but I promise that I, at least, find that I do not tire of this disconnect! Boundaries are, generally, a major area of disagreement. In so many ways, we segment space and establish magic circles, and Barley is fully immune to these human games. In this respect, she’s also not nearly as canine as she might otherwise be: Barley doesn’t seem to have any durable notion of “territory” that might belong to her or to others. She goes where she pleases, and the only reason why she would never call for an end to borders is because she can’t even conceive of their existence in the first place.

Barley, a dog, sniffs intently at a crude facsimile of a cat made from wire, googly eyes, and thick black pipe cleaners. I can generally see things coming before Barley does, partly because I have a height advantage and partly because vision isn’t where Barley directs her attention a lot of the time. So I saw this very unconvincing cat from quite a ways off and thought to myself, “OK, this ought to be good, let’s see how this plays out.” And sure enough a few seconds later, Barley saw the “cat” as well, and got very excited. With all the enthusiasm of a kid running to the dessert section of the buffet, she bee-lined toward her prey, only to become befuddled once she got within a couple feet. She sidled back and forth, trying to examine this object, and eventually gave up and walked away with an audible “huff.”

Juniper, a dog, sprawls awkwardly against Barley, another dog, as the two ride in the back seat of a car. It’s been nearly five years since Barley and Juniper have cohabitated, but the memories of their silly times together remain strong. Ultimately, I think each is very happy and settled in their respective lives, as I’m not persuaded that they really “miss” each other in the sense two humans would. Each lives mainly in the moment, after all. And yet, I feel somehow responsible for the emotions they cannot feel, that I somehow have an obligation to miss the “them” of their being a duo on their behalf. Quite literally, they don’t know what they’re missing. But I do.

Barley, a dog, stands near some flowering cherry blossoms. They hold no particular appeal to her. As the saying goes, “dumplings > flowers,” and boy does Barley embody that aphorism. Hard to believe that it’s been over year since a post last marked the cherry blossoms (the photo was admittedly taken a little while ago), but Barley remains resolutely herself, and is unlikely to stop for the flowers unless they’re made of fondant.

Barley, a dog, photographed up close while lying on her side on a futon. There’s something very silly about a dog’s ability to lie on their side with their legs straight, especially when a cushion provides just enough neck support that they simply look like someone rotated them 90 degrees. Because this keeps their belly exposed, this is generally the sign of a dog who feels both comfortable and warm, so it’s more of a cozytime vibe. Keep this in mind the next time you open Blender and reach to yank on one of those Rotate Manipulators. As yourself, “Is this object at ease? Does it feel safe?”

Barley, a dog, sniffs at a heap of yard clippings lying in the gutter, among which are visible wild dandelions. Heaps of yard waste tend to draw Barley’s immediate interest, and I suspect that this is because they tend to be fresh. As a rule, if someone is organized enough to not only do yardwork but also to gather the resulting detritus into a heap, they’re generally also organized enough to fill up one of the dedicated yard waste bins provided by the city. By the same token, these heaps tend to be fleeting. Walking past this spot the following day, the heap had already disappeared.

Barley, a dog, gently roasts on a sunny porch, her slightly tanned belly visible. Now that we’re finally getting at least some direct sunlight free of cloud cover every day, Barley is doing more to take advantage of its warming rays. She’s doing quite a bit more wiggling in the cool grass, as well as flopping contentedly on warm wood. Either way you slice it, it’s fun to go forth on each walking knowing there’s only a low chance of rainfall (literally) dampening her spirits.

Barley, a dog, sits in the driver’s seat, as seen through the windshield! She can drive! (She can’t drive. Can you even imagine? I’d leave her in the car as I went into the store and she would then drive the car through the front door to try to be reunited with me.)

Barley, a dog, wades through a sea of green ivy alongside a street. Decorative ground ivy is perhaps Barley’s ideal ground cover. It’s soft (unlikely to contain any pokey or sticky bits), and its low density provides ample cover to conceal goodies, but it also doesn’t generally grow deep enough to impede Barley’s movement. As such, if we walk past some ivy, you can bet Barley’s going to want to check it out (which I’ll allow, under close scrutiny). It is also, to my occasional chagrin, a popular zone for bathroom breaks, which can leave me really having to do some spelunking if I’m to live up to my neighborly responsibilities and pick up after my dog.