Our dog, Joy, is a Shetland sheep dog, which means she can’t possibly run or chase enough. She attempts to herd anything that moves, which includes squirrels, blowing leaves, and our cat. I always joke that one day, we’re gonna get some sheep so that our dog can finally do the job she was bred to do. When we got her a year ago, the neighbor children were nearly as thrilled with her as we were, and became her pseudo family and best playmates. Often when I walk with Joy by the neighbor’s window, I hear a tiny, little voice yell with delight from her second floor bedroom, “JO-EE!” (she has trouble with the “oy” sound and has taken to calling the dog “Joey” instead). This is generally followed, thirty seconds later, by a storm of children racing out of the house and oodling over Joy while she lays on the ground, basking in the love fest. Once, the five children begged me to take her to the back yard and let her run and play without the leash on, which I obliged. They squealed as they ra