...that she is just so damn good that she makes me look good.

Seriously, I am very proud of Tribble this week: she went to the beach with me for a walk and saw the ocean for the very first time; she's been just about perfect off-leash even in the face of standing water and mud to roll in; she's been very good about waiting for me to wipe her down before going into the rental, and after a couple of 'nope!' chastisements for hopping on the rental's furniture has happily been rolling around on the floor without even trying for the couch. For a dog who usually lives to burrow into our sectional, this is angelic behavior.

(It probably helps that she is viewing the living room rug as a deliciously scratchy novelty to roll around on, and that my colleagues are delightedly giving her attention every five minutes--with six people besides me in the house, almost all of whom like dogs at least in theory and only one of whom has his own at home, she's getting a lot of belly rubs.

And she's been about perfect about napping quietly in her crate while people are writing, and she's generally being very quiet and very sweet, and just--

*mooshes her* what a GOOD DOG.