In the morning Newton and I go for a run. Some days we go to Hickory Hill Park, where he runs willy nilly through the tall grass, picking up burrs and other unwanted things; other days I set him free in a small park closer by, where he runs willy nilly through a grassy field. It’s illegal to let him off leash, but it is before dawn, and who on their way to work in the morning will report me? Still other days, I take him for a long run—about five miles. When we come home, Newton passes out on the carpet. I get some small, sadistic pleasure from the fact that I can exhaust him so.