Twelve years ago we were heading north on 101 with our new doggie and Trophy said let’s stop a minute at the Hopland Superette. She went inside, dog and I stayed in the parking lot. The little pup, a scant eight weeks old and a member of a new pack less than 30 minutes, sat staring up at me from the pavement, feet together, shoulders back, a serious look. It was a pose she was to strike many, many times through the next dozen years, and we came to call it “Reporting for Duty.” It was her default position, and suggested an outlook she was to retain all her life. We called her “puppy” those first few days because we hadn’t yet named her Katrina, and after we named her Katrina we still call
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