Barley, a dog, scrutinizes a patch of tall, dry grass. As much of a sniffer as she is, Barley will occasionally give something the most intense eyeballing. When she stopped by this thicket, rather than wedge her nose in like I was expecting, she dropped her snout and peered with steely intensity into its recesses. This went on for a while, and even as I snapped a pic, I wondered if she was about to make some move on a concealed critter. But, the moment passed, and she moved on, so we’ll never know if it was empty or if some concealed creature beat her at a staring contest.

Barley, a dog, gazes into the eyes of one of her toys, a blue creature that just barely qualifies as a pig. From time to time, I catch myself realizing that dogs are not burdened in the ways we are by the sense that something is “wrong.” When I saw this approximate pig at the store, my first reaction was that it must have been designed by a space alien whose only description of a pig came from a medieval manuscript. But upon further reflection, it occurs to me that there’s no way Barley would care, or even notice, that this is a “wrong pig.” So, meet Hieronymus, Barley’s newest toy and escapee from the Garden of Earthly Delights.

Barley, a dog, bellyflops into lush grass to shed some heat. I tire of this still dreary weather, so I cast my mind to warmer days; warm enough that Barley, indefatigable though she may be, needed to use her “belly on the cool grass” trick to take a breather. This Florida dog knows how to beat the heat!

Barley, a dog, braces herself to chomp at incoming waves on a rocky beach. Barley’s experience of the river may have been an anxiety-provoking experience for her, but she’s always seemed excited to visit the beach. Certainly, it’s a carnival of odors and no doubt her nose is alive with the smells of ocean, but she also seems to find waves very compelling. Her inclination, I think, is to see each swell as a distinct “thing,” and the undulations of the waves (rushing forward and withdrawing, telegraphing their motions) seem to put her into a playtime state of mind.

Barley, a dog, lies on a bed, shrouded in darkness. The light behind the photographer catches in her eyes, causing them to glow uncannily. I ain’t ‘fraida no Barley. I ain’t ‘fraida no bed.

Barley, a dog, sits still somewhat moist from a bath. Between her short fur, her lack of an undercoat, and regularly being caught in light rainfall, I’ve never lived with a dog who needs fewer baths than Barley. Still, from time to time, she gets a good cleaning, and every time I find myself weirded out by the sight of her without a collar. “Oh, good heavens,” I think in a period accent, “I didn’t realize you were changing!” And yet here she is, Donald Ducking it every day and I don’t give it a second thought. Remarkable how little it takes for the human brain to code an animal as “clothed.”

Juniper, a dog, lazes atop an oversized leather couch, giving her a clear view out the window. One of Juniper’s favorite posts (and I say post because, never forget, she’s a Dog With A Job in her own mind) is keeping watch from atop the sofa where it abuts the wall. Overstuffed as it is, there’s just enough of a surface for her to lie on comfortably and sleep, and this position also affords her a clear and elevated view of most of the block. Nobody’s crossing this property’s perimeter undetected!

Barley, a dog, slips briefly into consciousness before continuing a nap in her crate. Barley’s position is unambiguous: Naps should be a team activity. Her ideal world, I think would consists of many additional hours of the two of us lazing about in various states of consciousness. With this in mind, I’ll sometimes grab a book and park myself right outside her crate while she sleeps. She groggily appraises my presence and, seemingly approving of my staying put, slips back into the land of dreams.

Barley, a dog, is featured in a newspaper. I often joke that Barley’s the star and I’m merely her manager, but I cannot understate how much that’s what it felt like while being present during the interview that I brokered between Barley and the reporter who took this photo.

Barley, a dog, wears a very bright slightly large floatation vest. Barley has had a couple opportunities to experience being On A Boat, so in the interest of safety, she is the proud owner of a floatation vest that is almost too big for her. When we went to buy her the vest, this was the only size in stock that technically worked. So when out on the open ocean, she looks like she’s straddling the line between Neon Taco and Free Horse Armor DLC.

Barley, a dog, scales a flight of stairs weathered and ancient-seeming. When poking around with Barley, there’s something very surreal about suddenly finding oneself somewhere that is at once not nature but also no longer getting much human traffic. Doing so with Barley taking the lead feels much, much more like I’m being led by a Stalker into The Zone than crossing through such an area would feel if I were by myself.

Barley, a dog, viewed in profile against a rolling expanse of grass and trees. The old cartoon gag is that dogs think trees and fire hydrants are resplendent oases, and indeed those upright objects command Barley’s attention on walks, but when I walk across large open expanses (fields of grass, empty parking lots, etc.), it really becomes clear what she does and does not consider a visually interesting landmark. Fundamentally, I don’t think dogs see our sidewalks the way we do, as linear tracks to be followed to a destination. It’s more like a natural 3D space has been collapsed to 2D, with every interesting landmark squashed along the margin. So, of course, she needs to stop and smell every interesting thing we come across; there’s so many all in a row! To Barley, pedestrian walkways seem (I think) a bit more like supermarket aisles. In a more naturally open environment extending in every direction, her walking pace feels like a more natural mix of walking, jogging, and running.

Barley, a dog, stands up as tall as she can to see something out of frame. Barley is so scent oriented that her approach to the outdoors is predominantly a hunkering saunter, trotting along while scanning for compelling smells. However, there is one sound her ears are always scanning for, and that’s any jingle jangle in “pet collar tag” territory. Any tag jangles could mean a new friend! Upon jangle detection, she stands as tall as she can and scans the horizon, her ears pivoting to triangulate the point of origin. Anticlimactically, in this photo, it turned out to be someone’s car keys instead.

Juniper, a dog, relaxes in the grass with a tennis ball clutched in a toothy grin. Juniper, a dog, pants happily in the Florida heat. In keeping with her habit of treating toys as objects of affection and comfort, Juniper will often take her ball with her from place to place. She’ll do this whether or not people are home, almost as if she’s giving the ball a tour as she patrols. She’s no stranger to fetch, of course, and will sometimes signal her desire to Give Chase, but in this instance, she was simply discovered to have posted up with ball in a grassy expanse, doing so before any humans in the house had even thought to look for her outside.

Barley, a dog, looks past the photographer, scanning the perimeter. Given that Barley has no idea what a camera is, and (I presume) any bystanders who happen to be nearby also don’t know why someone would keep kneeling next to their dogs, I must admit that taking Barley’s photo in public can feel a little foolish. However, part of Barley’s complete, Zen-like acceptance of each moment she experiences is that she always seems to assume I have a good reason for doing whatever I’m doing. So while I’m trying to capture her on camera, she’s usually scanning the horizon for the next points of interest toward which she will guide me.

Barley, a dog, holds her toy manta ray in her jaws. The manta ray is weirdly into it. Barley’s manta ray always seems to enjoy getting thrashed around - that “looking over my shoulder” effect really is quite striking. It’s a favorite toy because of its secret weapon: layers of crinkly plastic inside its fins and tails on par with the very loudest of Sun Chips bags. I don’t know of an evolutionary argument for why this is a fun sound for dogs, but I have my own hypothesis: Barley has a lot of experience hearing me open plastic food bags and now gets wound up by any crinkly plastic noises.

Barley, a dog, lies upon a dog bed, atop a comforter, itself on a full human bed. While Barley is no longer actively frightened of the vacuum cleaner, she still prefers to give it a wide berth. So, imagine my surprise when, having put her dog bed up to get it off the floor, I return to discover that Barley approves of adding another layer to the comfort onion.

Barley, a dog, has rolled into her back and is gleefully wiggling back and forth, paws in the air. Thankfully, Barley has never seemed interested in rolling around in “scentful patches” of ground. However, she does still find herself needing to wiggle from time to time. This behavior serves two purposes. If she finds an especially nice patch of dry, pokey grass, she may take a minute to give herself a vigorous back scratch. On the other hand, when the weather is especially hot and she is panting up a storm from the sun beating down on her back, she’ll find a patch of the lushest, greenest grass that has remained in the shade all day and flop onto her back to shed the extra heat.

Barley, a dog, goes for the throat, but because her prey is a starfish, all she can get are arms. When it’s play time and the toy has the squishy softness of prey, you know Barley’s going to give that toy a thrash. Once she has a solid grip from them chompers, she really whips everything from the shoulders up with unsettling force. I can say with complete certainty that if I committed to that particular bit(e) with her level of commitment, I would be spending a few weeks wearing a neck brace.

Barley, a dog, stares intently into the camera. In a way, the shortness of Barley’s fur is cheating, because it makes the wrinkles of her brow and scalp immediately and intuitively visible. Lots of shaggier dogs are just as emotionally expressive with their eyes, but we humans are none the wiser because those crinkles of interest get lost in the fur.