Barley, a dog, poses in front of some very sun-bleached tiles depicting ocean life native to the region. Gold Dirona.Gold Dirona. Alabaster Nudibranch. Red Tube Worm. Moon Snail.

Barley, a dog, gazes upward in a closeup that reveals small scratches to her snout. Well, it was bound to happen again eventually. A well-concealed cat, things happening fast, and Barley got what was coming to her. The cat, of course, is fine: They were separated immediately after the blow was struck. Safe to say, however, that no lesson was learned on this day, as Barley appeared entirely unfazed by the experience.

Barley, a dog, sits on a hill with enormous conifers behind her, stretching into the overcast sky. Granted, living somewhere famous for its rain isn’t for everyone, but I think there’s a great deal to be said for how green this makes everything. This is tree-growin’ country, and I’m grateful to the many parks that put really impressive trees (of a sort that wouldn’t be allowed around houses out of a concern they might one day collapse) within walking distance.

Barley, a dog, sits expectantly as the claw of her lobster toy looms in the foreground. On the one hand, the name is apt because the lobster’s face does not appear on screen. On the other hand, Barley chewed off the lobster’s face years ago, so it’s not as though it would appear if the camera panned left.

Barley, a dog, tromps enthusiastically through dry leaves on grass. Would that I could fully revel, as a pure acoustic experience, in the sound of Barley and I moving at full trot across a field of dry leaves. Alas, my eyes must remain open and vigilant, to keep this eager creature from eating anything she shouldn’t.

Barley, a dog, clambers atop a sofa in order to gaze excitedly out of a window at the back stairs, anticipating someone’s arrival. For most of the time Barley and I have been together, our orbit been narrow and largely exclusive. Her routine is my routine, and she is an enthusiastic copilot. Visiting my parents provides an opportunity to see her adopt a wider routine involving the habits of others. Every morning, my dad takes a walk, so she knows where to station herself to be ready for his return. In the later afternoon, she knows to check in with my mom to receive a little treat while dinner gets put together. While she still spends most of her time with me, it’s nice to see her going on these little sidequests.

Juniper, a brown dog, is very happy on her big brown couch after getting home from a vigorous walk. As much as Juniper’s mind is filled with potentialities at all times, as is that of any Dog With A Job, her opportunities to execute on a plan are at best intermittent. As such, she is no great athlete, and tires herself out pretty fast given the opportunity. Walks are an especially high-activation undertaking, since they involve venturing into unknown territory, and after a short distance, she’s all too eager to return to her command center, her battle bridge, her war room, the Big Brown Couch.

Barley, a dog, is caught mid-blink as she hangs out near some goats. There’s something weird about expressing gratitude for Barley. Not because she doesn’t deserve it; obviously, she’s a blessing to all who encounter her. It’s more that her gratitude is so immediate and automatic. It’s never a performance, she has only the faintest glimmer of an idea of “performing” in any sense. To take stock, to be deliberate in my reflection of how thankful I am for Barley’s many wonderful qualities, isn’t true to the essence of her spirit, which is to instead do so instantly and unreservedly. Food for thought.

Barley, a dog, sniffs excitedly along the roots of a tree, surrounded by fallen leaves. As a creature who gravitates towards edges and boundaries, Barley has many more perimeters to check during the fall. In addition to the usual targets (tree roots, where walls meet ground, benches), the heaping of leaves by winds and workers create prickly, fractal combs that can catch and hold all manner of sniff-worthy portents. The colder temperatures don’t hurt: Barley trots more briskly when it’s cold, so this season sees her zipping around like a kid on a scavenger hunt.

Barley, a dog, looks toward a house under construction that, aside from its roof, appears to be made entirely from particleboard. From time to time, I encounter objects in the world that feel so much like video game assets that they induce a wave of, well, “anti-graphics” sentiment. Here, for example, we see an object that’s giving off enormous MyHouse.WAD energy. I feel pretty confident that even a person with zero video game experience would agree that this house looks uncanny. I can’t tell if Barley, by contrast, has any sense at all of violated aesthetic expectation. Her acceptance of the world as it is proceeds with no hesitation or resistance.

Barley, a dog, is tuckered right out on the office carpet. On account of the time of year, I’ve had a few late days at the office recently. Barley, of course, would prefer to be wherever I’m at, so she doesn’t seem to mind, but her expectation that “someone might stop by to say hi” keeps her in her lighter, more vigilant “nap” mode for a lot longer than she would be at home. Here, while napping with an eye and an ear on the door to monitor for visitors, she has slipped into deeper, dreamier sleep. Which tells me that at least she feels safe!

Barley, a dog, stands in front of a series of shiny metal planters containing a shrubbery and edible vegetables. Of the various residential aesthetics I come across on my walks, “farmcore” is the one I find most perplexing. I’m happy to live and let live, of course; people can go wild with their yards as far as I’m concerned. I just don’t quite get why you would want your residential garden to look like a working farm. In my admittedly limited experience, modern farms are very much working environments, full of heavy equipment, paint that needs a fresh coat, and a patina of mud spatter that folks are too busy to bother to clean off. It’s a functional environment, not a demonstrative, performative one. So what is someone performing that aesthetic looking to communicate? It makes about as much aesthetic sense to me as fashioning your yard in the style of an oil refinery or a quarry.

Barley, a dog, lies in the back seat of a car, atop a comforter spread out for her convenience. Barley is consistently excited to go for a ride. She has now, however, developed too keen a sense of which car is mine. From her perspective, anyone milling about near a car is worth investigating, and the open door itself is practically an invitation. Once in a car, her enthusiasm is a bit more ambiguous than I think it used to be. Mostly, she sprawls atop the blanket provided for her. She may have come to realize that all it takes is one quick deceleration for her to gutterball into the precipice before her.

Juniper, a dog, sits on the grass in a yard and scans her surroundings while holding a tennis ball in her mouth. Patrolling the grounds is a regular part of Juniper’s routine, and even when the weather is a little rainy, she’ll still stick her head out briefly to check on the yard and make sure everything is as it should be. Partly, this dutiful reliability stems from her deep need to be a Dog With A Job, but there is also an architectural reason for it: Unlike the front yard, which she can survey from the comfort of the living room couch, there aren’t any windows through which she can get a clear view of the back yard for various reasons. So, the only way to really be sure that the homestead is safe from invaders is to venture forth and check for herself.

Barley, a dog, gazes calmly ahead in a park setting. Barley, a dog, turns her head a bit to the right and adopts a concerned expression. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Barley become truly relaxed in an outdoor setting. Sure, she’ll calm down and rest, especially if the weather is warm or the walk has been long, but the sights, sounds, and smells of the world never entirely escape her awareness. This is very much not a state of anxiety. If she becomes nervous, Barley’s whole demeanor gets slinky and avoidant, attentive but also getting out of dodge. No, the steady sniff-cycling and the pricking of her ears at each whoosh and rustle are signs of Barley being well and truly present in these settings, a creature whose mind doesn’t wander because that’s what her legs are for.

Barley, a dog, sleeps while curled into a ball in her home crate. Barley sleeps at all times of day or night, but she clearly understands the difference between a vigilant nap and deep slumber. Once the day has wound down and she’s had her night dollop of probiotic yogurt, she knows that the show’s over and usually retires to her crate until Lights Out. Therein, she sleeps more deeply than she usually does during the day, and mumbled sleep woofs can occasionally be heard leaking out from her dreams.

Barley, a dog, sits in a driveway. Behind her, a combination motion-sensor-light-camera-speaker informs her that she is being recorded. There is something uniquely infuriating about being jump-scared so many times by the same chipper recorded voice announcing that your passage is being documented that you come to dread passing that particular house. It doesn’t matter how far across the street you are: The voice reports your detection even if you’re in the yard across the street. So, I hope it got a great look at this amazing dog, and myself as I made my own record of it, and her.

Barley, a dog, lies on a futon half-curled, her hind legs poking out from what is otherwise a pretty tight little bundle. Most dogs draw comfort from a mild feeling of pressure. This is presumably the mechanism behind the calming effects of a thundershirt, and why many dogs will lean against their owners, especially if they are feeling stressed out. For her part, Barley frequently capitalizes on this effect when presented with both horizontal and vertical soft and squishy surfaces. Here, we see her taking full advantage of the arrangement of pillows to sleep in such a way that the futon is giving her a hug.

Barley, a dog, peers at the camera through the railing of a wooden deck. Her paws poke out from under the railing. When visiting my parents, Barley mostly doesn’t take advantage of the deck to survey the world below. As widely documented on this page, she prefers to soak in the sun. The exception, however, is whenever my parents or I do some yard work. Then, she’ll post up at a spot not obstructed by a hedge and patiently survey the work being done. The pictured angle is typical - she tends to avoid letting her face touch the barrier itself. One gets that impression that as long as we remain within her line of sight, even if we’re pretty far away, she still feels like we’re all hanging out together.

Barley, a dog, snatches a thrown toy from the air as it comes almost straight down. One thing that immediately struck me when Barley first came home with us from the shelter, and remains striking even to this day, is how good she is at catching things. If she knows you’re going to throw something, you really need to chuck it to get it going past her - more likely, she’ll displace her whole body in order to interpose her face and bring the flying object to rest. And when she’s alert and paying attention? You might think she’s sitting all nice and polite, but that short fur conceals a whole chain of coiled springs.