Having a “working dog” sounds incredibly noble, doesn’t it? Like they’re out there, solving crimes, heroically rescuing people from treacherous mountain passes, or perhaps delicately sniffing out artisanal cheeses and vintage wines that are just past their sell-by date. In reality, my “working dog” is primarily engaged in the strenuous activity of demanding attention with laser-like focus, shredding seemingly indestructible toys into confetti in under 3.7 seconds, and occasionally attempting to herd the cat (unsuccessfully, as the cat remains firmly in charge of the household hierarchy). Yet, somehow, the health regime for this furry fiend is more rigorous than a professional athlete’s, and certainly more rigorous than my own.