Piled High

Barley, a dog, relaxes on her fluffy new dog bed, her limbs sinking deep into the fluffy piling of the plush texture.

Barley, a dog, relaxes on her fluffy new dog bed, her limbs sinking deep into the fluffy piling of the plush texture. For the first week or so, Barley gave the new dog bed a wider berth than I would have expected, and I was beginning to worry that she didn’t much like it, but I think she just needed to get used to it. It’s a little too slidey for her taste, I think, and I might put some of that adhesive webbing for carpets on the bottom to make it a little more stable, but I may not need to, as she’s getting the hang of how much support it provides when she flops down onto it.

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Curby's Adventure

Barley, a dog, lifts her paw as she is about to step down from the curb and into the street, because further passage is blocked by a flowering bush.

Barley, a dog, lifts her paw as she is about to step down from the curb and into the street, because further passage is blocked by a flowering bush. One of the thousand little things I enjoy watching Barley do is evaluate how to navigate changes in elevation. Often, these moments of assessment are fleeting, but they’re not instantaneous. Even stepping down from this curb, a smaller altitude change than a typical staircase step, warrants a momentary focusing of her attention, which I can see from where I’m standing by watching her ears pivot forward to better take in any sounds on her current heading.

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One Two Three Four, I Declare A Stick War

Barley, a dog, tugs at once end of a thoroughly chewed stick while her buddy, a golden retriever, tugs at the other.

Barley, a dog, tugs at once end of a thoroughly chewed stick while her buddy, a golden retriever, tugs at the other. It’s been a good summer for doggy playdates, and Barley has had a number of highly stimulating hangouts with bigger, younger dogs who are happy to test the limits of her modest endurance. What’s been especially nice is that once there’s an element of routine to it all, there’s very little need for the two to re-determine their relative dominance roles. They can instead settle right into important matters, like whose stick this is.

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Spooky, Scary

Barley, a dog, curls up under a bench seat and peers outward vigilantly.

Barley, a dog, curls up under a bench seat and peers outward vigilantly. I’ve written in the past about Barley’s fearful aversion to big badda booms, and I thought for sure that the month of July was going to be a breeze when she handled the fireworks on the 4th just fine (admittedly, it was an uncharacteristically quiet Fireworks Day in my neighborhood this year). So I was caught off guard by her reaction when, a couple weeks later, a major thunderstorm rolled through without much warning. Big, window-rattling thunder sent Barley in search of shelter, and I discovered her trying out hiding spots she’s never tried before! Among others, she curled up in an unlit bathroom and wouldn’t come when called, which led to me wandering the apartment for several minutes trying to find her. Thankfully, the storm was as fast-moving as it was violent, and within 20 minutes the weather was back to normal, but Barley stayed spooky for hours, only really returning to her normal self after she had some dinner. (Full disclosure: This is not a photo from that particular storm, but rather a different ‘take shelter’ incident some years earlier. In her most recent panic, she insisted on staying in very dark rooms, and I figured in that context that it would be a bad time to use my flash.)

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Juniper Friday! People Food

Juniper, a dog, gingerly eats a sampling of mixed cooked vegetables from an artichoke-themed bowl.

Juniper, a dog, gingerly eats a sampling of mixed cooked vegetables from an artichoke-themed bowl. In contrast to Barley (who will eat almost anything), Juniper is a notoriously picky eater. Partly, this is a matter of anxiety: She usually only eats when she feels safe, and as such (a) won’t eat just anywhere (having her back to an open room is not the ambiance she’s looking for) and (b) will hold off eating for an alarmingly long time if things haven’t “settled” (e.g., if there are houseguests). But beyond that, she is also discerning. She loves cheese, but if you hide a pill she needs to eat in some cheese, you need to watch her carefully to make sure she doesn’t eat around the pill and discard it. So it’s quite interesting that she is as interested as she is in the food the humans are eating. There is a social dynamic that she clearly buys into, because if there’s a big dinner with a lot of prep and she’s given just a little bit of the food to sample, she seems to set her standards aside, eats whatever she is given enthusiastically, and then trots off with what seems for all the world like a sense of accomplishment.

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Fences (For Dogs)

Barley, a dog, trots along the earthen ground beside a fence made of spaced horizontal boards.

Barley, a dog, trots along the earthen ground beside a fence made of spaced horizontal boards. I’m sometimes given to wonder: What’s the best type of fence for dogs? I don’t mean what type of fence is best for dog owners. I mean, if we accept as a given that a barrier must be erected that a dog cannot cross, what properties should that barrier have that best serve the short- and long-term interests of that dog? I think spaced boards, almost certainly, right? If I were a dog, I’d want to see what’s on the other side of the fence, and a nice spacing lets scents come through. Probably, a horizontal spacing would also be preferred, since there’s bound to be a gap that’s pretty comfortably eye-level. So maybe this is the perfect fence?! Much to consider.

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She Done Melted

Barley, a dog, snoozes atop a bedspread, seeming especially flat today.

Barley, a dog, snoozes atop a bedspread, seeming especially flat today. As a one-time Florida Dog, Barley doesn’t shy away from heat, and even managed tolerate it better than some of her floofier dog buddies. Given some of the heat waves we’ve experienced in recent weeks, a pretty common reaction to getting home from a walk of even moderate length has been to rehydrate and then pass entirely out, sleeping way more deeply than she normally does at midday.

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Unfortunately, No One Can Be Told What The Mulchtrix Is

Barley, a dog, walks through a world that, to the naked eye, seems almost suspiciously uniform in its textures.

Barley, a dog, walks through a world that, to the naked eye, seems almost suspiciously uniform in its textures. Since my walking-the-dog photos are often very spontaneous, I don’t recall having more than a fleeting notion, “hey, nice yard coming up,” as I fished my phone out of my pocket with my free hand. Looking at the photo now, it’s honestly almost too perfect. What neat and tidy mulch, so uniform in its height and miraculously kept off the sidewalk. What healthy, vibrant plants! Even the sidewalk has a “high-res public domain texture pack” energy to it. What if this is all a simulation, including me?! What if I’m a piece of software written for Barley’s benefit?! (Obviously, there’s no question that Barley is a genuine guest of the virtual space, because all agree that she’s a Real One.)

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Oreo Landscaping

Barley, a dog, walks past a set of stepping stones framed by bleached white gravel, with rich, dark garden soil freshly laid to either side.

Barley, a dog, walks past a set of stepping stones framed by bleached white gravel, with rich, dark garden soil freshly laid to either side. I’m one of those people who finds oil painting in progress to be very confusing, because I only have the faintest notion of what it would mean to paint the dark colors first and then layer the lighter colors atop them. I’m sure there are similar plans for this yard - the visible tag on a freshly planted shrub suggests that I’ve caught this yard in pre-production, with further shrubs to come that will in time grow to fill the space. Even so, the stark contrast of this footpath struck me so mightily that I had my phone out a half a block in advance of reaching it.

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Play? But also, PLAY?!

Barley, a dog, proffers up her toy donkey in the hopes of play time.

Barley, a dog, proffers up her toy donkey in the hopes of play time. Playtime is not coming fast enough! Barley’s head and tail are in motion to try to make tug (or, failing that, fetch) happen! Barley is generally pretty good at letting me know when she’s got energy that she needs to burn off through play. She’ll present me with a toy and will either play tug/keepaway with it, or (and only if I tell her to ‘drop it’) she’ll get ready to chase the toy down when I throw it before parading around with it, thrashing as she goes. She’ll just as suddenly signal when she’s done messing about, which doesn’t take long at all, so I can almost always make the time indulge her when she asks.

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I See A Path And I'm Off It

Barley, a dog, cuts her trek perpendicular with respect to the stepping stones that *clearly* indicate the path preferred by the landscaper, and she does so with a flourish of the tongue.

Barley, a dog, cuts her trek perpendicular with respect to the stepping stones that clearly indicate the path preferred by the landscaper, and she does so with a flourish of the tongue. Barley is not immune to level design. She can often intuit more or less what path I intend to take while we’re out on a walk, and steers toward those practical avenues, but once she gets a whiff of something interesting, it’s a whole other story. If she doesn’t stop dead in her tracks, she might drag me right into some shrubbery! As such, I usually keep a pretty close eye on Barley for the whole duration of a walk, because I often only have split-second of warning before she goes off-road.

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Juniper Friday! On The Launchpad

Juniper, a dog, sits excitedly on a lawn chair with her ears up and her mouth open, visibly jazzed that her ball is about to be thrown.

Juniper, a dog, sits excitedly on a lawn chair with her ears up and her mouth open, visibly jazzed that her ball is about to be thrown. As so many dogs with working breeds in her lineage, Juniper often bring a certain “let me at ‘em!” energy to her play. She is very keen to chase when commanded, so throwing a ball is going to be a big hit, but once she’s in motion, she doesn’t always being the ball right back. Getting up to full speed overcomes a lot of her “I need to be a good girl” inhibitions and she sometimes just runs. When the spirit moves her, she may snatch up the ball and keep going, making several laps around the yard until she finally flops onto her belly and drops the ball to more effectively pant. It’s probably for the best that she’s never really had the luxury of long straightaways, because she’s already real fast, and if she were any faster it would probably only run the risk of getting her into trouble some day.

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Pole Position

Barley, a dog, sniffs about among the grasses at the base of a telephone pole, unaware of the stereotypes she is reinforcing.

Barley, a dog, sniffs about among the grasses at the base of a telephone pole, unaware of the stereotypes she is reinforcing. It’s clear that Barley recognizes when she is in unfamiliar territory, because she sniffs longer and with greater intensity at all the signature canine landmarks. He check-ins with favored spots are a bit more perfunctory when it’s a spot she walk past almost every day. What’s unclear is how she feels about all this new information she’s presumably taking in. She’s activated, sure, but is she happy? Nervous? Are the edges of her vision darkening at the scent of some local cat who she imagines she might run down? Beyond knowing that she’s excited to go on walks and very engaged during them, so much of her private musings will forever remain mysterious. I don’t think I’d dwell on this so much if it weren’t for Barley’s limited theory of mind, because she clearly assumes I’m thinking what she’s thinking!

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Hot To Trot

Barley, a dog, scans a lush fringe between the sidewalk and a fence while moving forward at a brisk pace.

Barley, a dog, scans a lush fringe between the sidewalk and a fence while moving forward at a brisk pace. Barley’s a photogenic dog, which is lucky for me because she also doesn’t know that cameras exist, and as such is conceptually unable to mug for them. As such, I often end up photographing her “on the hoof.” I’m quite grateful that the modern digital cameras have such impressive (figurative) shutter speed, because between her walking speed and my efforts to try to keep the phone steady, I feel like these photos ought by rights to be much blurrier than they generally turn out.

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Honk! Mi Mi Mi Mi... Honk! Mi Mi Mi Mi...

Barley, a dog, curls up with a frilly pillow while snoozing on a bedspread.

Barley, a dog, curls up with a frilly pillow while snoozing on a bedspread. Barley’s not the loudest snorer, but she’s definitely a snorer. The emergence of her rhythmic little honks generally marks the moment she’s well and truly asleep, as opposed to merely dozing. Since they’re pretty soft and rhythmic, they’re not something that get in the way of my falling asleep each night. On occasions when I’m having trouble getting to sleep, what can sometimes get me in trouble is Barley dreaming, which generally sets in 15-20 minutes after the snoring starts. So it behooves me to tuck in when I feel good and ready to sleep, and not before, since I’ve got about a 15 minute window to lose consciousness before the soothing rhythm of Barley’s snores give way to sleep wiggles and dream woofs.

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Pew Pew Pew!

Barley, a dog, stands at the back of a small chapel. The view down the aisle reveals a raised stage and a pair of modest pipe organs.

Barley, a dog, stands at the back of a small chapel. The view down the aisle reveals a raised stage and a pair of modest pipe organs. There’s something very curious to me about rooms and buildings that retain their form purely out of momentum and nostalgia. This chapel, for example, is located within an institution that has operated in an entirely secular way for nearly 100 years. Despite having lost its function, the chamber’s form and furniture remain trapped in amber. Since the space nevertheless gets used (mostly for administrative meetings and the occasional spoken word performance), the echoes of sermons long past were far less compelling than the smell of what I must assume are a bunch of unfamiliar folk, because boy howdy was she excited to sniff up and down the length of the pews.

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The Sun-Dappled Path

Barley, a dog, walks along a footpath through lush greenery. The sun shines brightly through the leaves above, turning the earth of the path into a vivid cowprint pattern.

Barley, a dog, walks along a footpath through lush greenery. The sun shines brightly through the leaves above, turning the earth of the path into a vivid cowprint pattern. In my youth, I knew a older professor whose every move was wracked by visible discomfort. I would eventually come to learn that she had been beset by an aggressive form of arthritis in her 20s, and had spent most of her adult life managing inflammation. She had spent a big chunk of her earlier life in Colorado, and I once asked her if she was considering moving back there when she retired. After all, that seemed like a climate that would make her arthritis more tolerable. She casually shook her head and said she intended to stay in the Pacific Northwest. She recounted the first impression the region when she came to visit campus to interview for the job she would eventually get. The first night of her stay, she called her husband from the hotel, and without so much as a salutation, she began the conversation in an almost frenzied tone: “It’s so fucking green!“

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The Very Earth, Made Plush

Barley, a dog, is curled up on a fluffy, well-stuffed new dog bed. She is glancing at the camera to see what all the fuss is about.

Barley, a dog, is curled up on a fluffy, well-stuffed new dog bed. She is glancing at the camera to see what all the fuss is about. Barley is now the proud steward of a new dog bed. The old bed, which was beginning to look a little threadbare, will go to my parents, where it will remain as an accessory for Barley’s future visits. Given the goofy levels of fluff in this new bed, I can’t help but ponder the ways in which this sort of dog bed is not meaningfully different than a plush toy. Despite this, and despite having many such toys, Barley at no point looked at this bed and saw a beast she could thrash. She understood immediately that this is softness on which to loaf. How does she make that distinction? Don’t get me wrong, I’m also very grateful that she doesn’t see throw pillows as toys, either, but she’s carving the objects of the world into practical categories really effectively, so naturally I’m curious what she’s relying on to do so.

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Juniper Friday! Vigilance

Juniper, a dog, sits atop a flurry white floor mat in what appears to be a bathroom.

Juniper, a dog, sits atop a flurry white floor mat in what appears to be a bathroom. As much as she feels a strong bond to her people, Juniper also has her own routine and habits. At times, she craves a solitary nap in a cozy nook; at others, she wishes to monitor the property and patrol its perimeter. But at other times, she goes full velcro dog and will insist, as politely as she can, on accompanying you into the bathroom.

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The Trashlands

Barley, a dog, stands atop a partially submerged stretch of black plastic sheeting that was no doubt at one time buried in order to prevent weeds from growing in a yard.

Barley, a dog, stands atop a partially submerged stretch of black plastic sheeting that was no doubt at one time buried in order to prevent weeds from growing in a yard. Of the various tools used to sculpt a yard into a particular image, few are as radical as the roll of plastic sheeting. From the point of view of any germinating seeds that are unfortunate enough to find themselves beneath it, its denial of sun or moisture has an almost Eternal-Cylinder-esque kind of brutality, a wholly unnatural thing carving a boundary through an otherwise typical ecosystem. A major weak spot for such sheeting, however, is that is flat curvature is never a precise match to a yard’s topography, and the folding and wrinkling needed to shape it to the terrain’s contours are the cracks in the fortress through which the natural world can fight back. Given a sustained floral seige, and without steady reinforcement, the fate of any such boundary is to gradually be surfaced by erosion and undone by each days thousand little disruptions. In this respect, Barley pawing at this weird noisy boundary is just her doing her part to help.

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