Barley, a dog, rests on a throw pillow. She is photographed from a low angle, near her rump, as if she was a rolling landscape extending into the distance. Something fun about photography is it forces us to think about how weird things look from a point of view, without the sanity check of getting to live in 3D. IT’s the most obvious thing in the world that, if you get up real close to an object, the part you’re close to will be much larger on your retina than the parts even a little further away. But when you’re doing this in 3D space with a physical object, visual cortex automatically reframes your visual experience as a space with depth and perspective. In a photograph, you can’t slide your head a bit to the side to adjust your view: You’re stuck with the camera’s point of view. It’s really only in reflection that I get to imagine this photo of Barley not as a closeup I snapped on a whim, but of a dog as a mountain range extending toward the horizon, the gentle wend and weft of her fur becoming the tall grass that a traveller will have to push through to reach the distant cliffs of her floppy ears and the gentle peak of her brow.

Barley, a dog, gets long on the futon, while overhead Jacob Horse from Drawfee also gets long. If you pay attention to what’s around you while walking a dog, you will regularly notice strange artifacts that make hints about the hidden lives of those living in the neighborhood. Of the strange objects I’ve stumbled upon in recent months, none puzzled me more than this Oujia cheese board lying by the side of the road. Imagine contacting the dead and then inviting them to choose between “MORE WINE!” and “MORE CHEESE!” If I’m a ghost and you disturb my eternal slumber to ask this, that’s it, I’m definitely going to be giving you night terrors going forward.

Barley, a dog, inspects a cutting board for cheese that is also a Ouija board, which has apparently been abandoned on the street. If you pay attention to what’s around you while walking a dog, you will regularly notice strange artifacts that make hints about the hidden lives of those living in the neighborhood. Of the strange objects I’ve stumbled upon in recent months, none puzzled me more than this Oujia cheese board lying by the side of the road. Imagine contacting the dead and then inviting them to choose between “MORE WINE!” and “MORE CHEESE!” If I’m a ghost and you disturb my eternal slumber to ask this, that’s it, I’m definitely going to be giving you night terrors going forward.

Barley, a dog, has her attention called to an ambiguous stone sculpture of an animal by the side of a house, which is buried in loose dirt right up to its eyes. As a teen playing Dungeons & Dragons, there were moments that the basic silliness of the D&D aesthetic went too far. The flail snail, for example, was such an obvious punchline, invented purely as a bit of wordplay, that my teenage self-importance could not abide it, and was offended that it even appeared in sourcebooks. Other monsters were still silly but felt plausible enough (perhaps as the product of some ancient magical research gone awry) that it didn’t trip my alarm bells. I was never wild about the displacer beast, but they didn’t feel like they would turn my game into a Saturday Morning Cartoon. Sitting right on that boundary of fantastical credibility was the bulette, or “landshark.” Its framing as “a shark but on land” is what pushes it over the edge for me, it’s such a Merry-Melodies-ass sales pitch. At the same time, however, high speed burrowing creatures can be pretty scary! So while I never actually used one in a campaign I was running, it wasn’t banished to the Ridicule Zone either. Imagine my surprise, then, when Barley discovered this rare “land gator” (which, upon closer inspection, was actually a concrete bullfrog).

Barley, a dog, grasps a brand-new caterpillar plush in her jaws, with a bit of motion blur to signal that the photo is taken during play. One of Barley’s big wins over the holidays was an especially long and hefty caterpillar toy. The web tells me this particular crawlie is named Katie, and her best feature (aside from the manufacturer’s high overall durability) is that she has not one, not two, but three squeakers, one in the middle and one at either hand. As such, however Barley gets a hold of her, I can always grab another bit and give it a few quick squeaks, which gets Barley all wound up again.

Barley, a dog, rests her head on her paws as she lies at the top of the stairs, peering down at the photographer. Barley’s not usually one to view things from a distance, but we had returned from a walk amidst the steep hills near where my parents live, and she was definitely tired. Having climbed the stairs, she seemed a little put out when I turned on my heels and headed right back down because I had forgotten something. She must have sensed that I would be right back, because instead of following close as she usually does, she plopped down and waited.

Juniper, a dog, relaxes on the couch with great intensity while holding her toy squirrel. See, the thing is, she is a dog who is the creature but also like the creature.

Barley, a dog, trots along an inclined lawn. The street in the background is wet, but is drying in banded striped. For whatever reason, some of the streets near my parents’ home have narrow grooves in the concrete, running perpendicular to the direction of traffic. It always struck me that effectively giving the neighborhood corduroy streets might not be prudent (seems like the roads would wear more rapidly), but maybe there’s some benefit from the way they channel water and prevent it from pooling. That might explain why, in the hours after it rains, the roads tend to dry in a pattern of blotchy, irregular bands, captured by accident in the photograph that was intended to simply be a shot of Barley trotting along with particular verve.

Barley, a dog, is oblivious to a sign in which a dog with a mustache is dabbing next to a pile of excrement. Sun exposure has given the sign a green tint. “I’ve been walking these streets for years and years, and never once, never once was my poop not cleaned up. And still, these clowns, these absolute clowns, they depict me as dog who still thinks it’s cool to dab. Where’s my greasepaint? Where is my Cesar Romero mustache? I’m losin’ it, I tell ya, losin’ it!”

Barley, a dog, tromps her way through a large shrubby patch of plants with long, black leaves. I often chatter a bit when walking Barley, giving her a running commentary on whatever it is that she’s doing. She doesn’t pay me a lot of directed attention when I do so, since she’s mostly exploring her surroundings, but I have the sense that she likes that I’m paying attention. As I was taking this picture, I asked her out loud, in a slightly sing-song voice, “Aren’t these leaves a weird color?” Immediately, I realized the folly of the question. Being color-blind, Barley probably doesn’t even think this plant looks unusual.

Barley, a dog, stands amid mulch and shrubbery on a sunny winter’s day. We’ve had some downright pleasant winter days this last week, provided the walks aren’t too long and sufficient layers have been donned. While it’s been cold, there’s also been a lot of direct sunlight, without too much wind to spoil things. At these temperatures, Barley seems more invigorated by the cold than anything else, lively and light on her feet. This is a far cry from this time last year, when Barley was having Bad Times facing wicked cold snap and subsequent ice storm. Here’s hoping we’re past the worst of it, although I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we got ambushed by freezing rain some time in February.

Barley, a dog, lies flopped onto a sofa, awake but seeming rather bored. There was a widespread “funny because it’s true” joke that went around during lockdown about how the group that was happiest about that state of affairs were the pets whose owners were suddenly working from home all week. In Barley’s case, however, my good fortune in being able to bring her to work (where she has tons of friends) means that staying at home is a significantly more boring options for her. Add in cold, wet weather to the mix, and “winter vacation” (during which I’m mostly staying home and working hard) is probably the dullest part of Barley’s year. Fortunately for her, I’ll be headed back to work very soon, and she’ll get to see her workplace friends for the first time in the New Year.

Barley, a dog, scans the surface of a residential leafscape, collating olfactory data about the neighborhood’s goings-on. Since October, each neighborhood I explore with Barley presents its own flavor of a stark contrast: The leaf-botherers and the laissez-leafers. Some folks are truly fine with their yards remaining covered by a thin crust of leaves, a delightful crème brûlée of smells for Barley to enjoy, while others insist on keeping their lawns uncovered like a fragile, quivering flan. It’s clear which Barley prefers from which yards she insists on investigating: The leaves offer, by far, the superior sniff experience.

Juniper, a dog, is photographed in a fenced yard, caught in mid-turn as she returns a tennis ball to the photographer. As much as Juniper loves a game of fetch, her excitement to play sometimes results in a disorganized approach. She may, for example run about midway into the yard holding the ball, then circle back, but still be too wound up to drop it and wait, so she’ll go for a second lap, and even a third, before finally realizing that she can’t chase the ball when she already has it.

Barley, a dog, is deep in her comfy feels as she sleeps atop a heap of soft bedding. “‘Cause girl, I think you might be an angel.” (whispers) “Angels leave impact craters, right? I didn’t think this metaphor through.”

Barley, a dog, trots along a fringe of moss growing near the edge of the sidewalk. About a year ago, I wrote about these distinctive strips of moss that I sometimes find on steep sidewalks. I suppose their reappearance now in my photo roll reflects our being deep in the drizzly season. Insofar as Barley seems to favor them, it’s probably more an accident of her following her nose, but it nevertheless pleases me to think that the winter has rolled out the carpet for her.

Barley, a dog, is photographed from up close as she turns toward the lens, producing a palpable fisheye effect that makes her big noggin look even bigger. Barley didn’t spend nearly as much time in the living room during this most recent visit, on account of the weather being generally chilly, but when she did so, she generally stayed close to whomever was on the couch. Photographed at these snuggly distances, the focal length of a phone camera really becomes noticeable, all the more so because Barley’s already got such a big pitty head.

Barley, a dog, snoozes while fully wedged in between a human and the inner corner of a sofa. This was probably Barley’s most relaxed New Year’s to date. Having come home early from our party, we had plenty of time to settle in and watch a streaming broadcast of the countdown and fireworks in Seattle. While there weren’t a ton of fireworks in the neighborhood at midnight, there also weren’t none, and Barley never seemed to so much as squirm nervously. She was so safe and so cozy all snuggled in that there was nothing at all to fear.

Barley, a dog, stands alert in a lit window, peering into the darkness at the arriving photographer. This photo is subject to a number of constraints, mostly the limits of digital zoom. Barley is quite a ways away, watching for our return on New Year’s Eve, and when the car pulled in, she sprang to her feet and stood, all stanced up as you see her here, until she knew for certain that we were actually coming into the house. We had been away for a few hours at a New Year’s gathering, but made out way home well in advance of midnight because Barley does not handle fireworks well. Hopefully, local ne’re-do-wells didn’t set off too many sky bombs while we were at the party, but we got back early enough that she hopefully didn’t have too rough a time.

Barley, a dog, wears a festive miniature holiday hat. The elastic cord is decidedly too tight, and Barley’s expression reflects this. When Barley and I arrived at my folks’ place for the holidays, I was presented with a tiny hat. Barley would, I was assured, look adorable wearing it, and I agreed. The elastic was sized for a human head, of course, and as an experiment, I tried doubling up the elastic. It was immediately clear that this was not enough elastic, and as soon as the hat went on, Barley froze. We had it off her again as soon as we snapped this photo (no longer than a few seconds), and Barley shook her head in bewilderment, clearly confused by the fleeting hat ambush she had just experienced.