I’ve never had a dog like Fate, an athletic, intense creature who has been clocked at running 50 miles an hour, a herding  dog from Wales who hates to herd sheep, an adaptable creature who runs so long and hard she happily dives into a freezing stream in January to cool off.

She is really Maria’s dog now they are inseparable, they walk in the woods, hang out in her studio, ride around town together, communicate in psychic ways.

Fate works harder than any dog I’ve ever had doing absolutely nothing. But once a week or so, Fate sidles over to me, climbs up onto the footstool and corkscrews her way into my lap, just like she used to do when she was a puppy.

When she is not working, she is playing, chasing Bud back and forth across the yard.

“You’re too big for this now,” I tell her, but she just sights and rolls over on her back and waits for her stomach to be  scratched, which always eventually do. Shen she leans back on my shoulder and falls asleep, a respite from her busy days. She slips for about 10 minutes, then takes my hand in her mouth and tries to play tug of war with it.

I love Fate very much, she is unique in every way, but at her very heart, she is just baby who wants to take a nap and have her belly rubbed, just like she always did.