“If you can pick your problems,” I coached, “maybe you shouldn’t see wet socks as a problem at all. You would have less to worry about if dry socks weren’t something that you expected from life.”

“For the love of Dog, let me go!” I squirmed. “Hold still.” She squeezed me tighter. “I might drop you if I lose my balance.” 

Dogs don’t take pictures, but Mom had tried to explain it before. “Doesn’t a photo capture exactly what the world looks like?” I asked, showing her my bored look in profile. “Instead of taking a hunerd pictures, you could just take one and look at it for longer.”