I own a dog. She’s cute and friendly and endlessly entertaining. What she doesn’t do, is work. Working like a dog in my house means nothing, because she is at best, a creature of leisure. She likes pillows or sleeping on our bed, preferrably on a pile of clean laundry. Somehow we managed to get through thirty-three years without this creature, and now, we rejoice to have a beastie that spends sixteen hours sleeping and the other eight requesting to... Read more