It’s not that the time I spend walking our current geriatric terrier — our ninth — would otherwise be spent in important meetings that I am turning down because of the dog. This dog, like the last eight dogs, is probably not preventing me from greatness, even considering the severe separation anxiety. But, every hour spent on training and walking and dog sweater–shopping makes me anxious (much like the terrier, actually): this is complacency, I think. I am complacent. Whatever ambition looks like, it is not sitting on the floor of your apartment for four days painting your dog’s Halloween costume. When you are rescheduling appointments so you can take the dog to get her anal glands expressed before the one groomer with good Yelp reviews closes, you begin to have doubts. Is this my life? (Yes.) (Also, you owe the anal gland expresser £15.)