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I’ve just finished one of the most horrible periods of writer’s block I’ve ever had.

Well, the writer’s block might not be finished, but I got the article completed, albeit a day late, which is very much not like me. It’s my piece on the foreclosure crisis and pets, and it will be on SFGate.com in the morning. Either Gina or I will link up when it’s live, and I’ll share a few items from the cutting room floor during the day tomorrow. I also plan on torturing regaling you with my thoughts on what makes a sighthound a sighthound, prompted by a question in the endless “DNA” thread about coursing and non-sighthounds.

But first, this. I just got back from walking my dogs. The first post-deadline walk is always a long one for me, and a great way to detox from stress. Kyrie has become far less reactive to other dogs while she’s on leash the longer we’ve lived in the City, and doesn’t stiffen or bark when she sees them anymore. Tonight she seemed very interested in a Border Collie who was at the far end of a very long meadow, and I had to really work to get her to turn and go the other way.

She kept staring at him, but in a very happy, friendly, almost excited way. I couldn’t figure it out, because none of my friends has a Border Collie, and I’ve had her since she was a puppy, and as far as I know, she’s never seen one before, let alone been friends with one.

Then it hit me. Kyrie didn’t know he was a Border Collie. She thought he was a very short Borzoi.