Under the shelter of my umbrella I wandered past provincial homes with wide porches and rippling American flags. In my meandering I came across the home of an artisan. The kind, old man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled and invited me in to his minuscule shop. A roaring fire warmed us as he showed me carvings, leather-works, and pieces of furniture that he had lovingly created. Despite the charming craftsmanship of the objects, what caught my eye in the store was a large slumbering dog. The old, golden fellow was sprawled across a bench, perched above a lit rack of un-chewed leather slippers. The owner fondly told me that the retriever’s name was Crafty. It was almost as though we could see into his dreams; reveries of new shoes to chew on. I kindly thanked the man for sharing, let the peaceful canine sleep, and moved on.