Maya thinks she’s a sled dog and since I don’t come equipped with metal tracks in lieu of feet, our “walks” wind up being 45 minute mobile power struggles during which I generally look as though I just roasted a big old gnarly crack rock. Spaztic. In the end, I’m drenched in sweat and she’s flinging foamy slobber everywhere. It’s beautiful.

Big M outweighs me by at least 20lbs bless her heart, and over the past few days it’s become painfully clear that my new/old knee issues can be traced directly back to our tug-of-wars and that infernal blue nylon leash. She’s spoiled rotten in no small part because her dad has “trained” her as a companion, not a pet. I love her anyway.

On the bright side, one of the truly great things about the two of us being the first folks through the park in the morning is that I get to de-web the pathways for all the other visitors.

Awesome.