I remember a lot of Friday nights where me and my friends would sit out back of the bar. I always had the fewest tattoos. There were some tables out there and you could bring a dog, and the tamale lady would come make the rounds with her cooler. The fog would be coming in, but there would be beer and tamales and a loud jukebox inside. Then maybe later it was an art opening somewhere and then another bar. It would go on til late. Always, there were dogs.

Now a Friday night is my friends and I rent a fancy indoor dog place in downtown San Jose. Always all the money goes to dog agility. We set some courses and practice international handling, just in case we need to go do some runs in Finland or Spain or Hungary, somewhere across the ocean with cobblestones and fewer vegan dinner options. I am the friend that never actually goes to Europe for dog agility, but I can practice like I do at least. There’s coffee instead of beer now, and we don’t practice too late, because we’re old and tired and have a long drive ahead, and some of us get up for work the next day. Always, there are dogs.