White Dog apparently reconsidered her position on Park days and realized that in her stubbornness she was the biggest loser. This morning Steve sat up in bed and asked, "Who wants to go to the Park?" A ball of white fluff hurled itself into his chest and yipped excitedly. She followed him as he pulled on Park clothes and was on his heels as they went out of the door. When they returned, I opened an eye and asked, "Well?" White Dog nonchalantly curled up next to me as Steve relayed how she ran and ran and rolled and sniffed and explored. Mondays and Wednesdays, seemingly, will now work for White Dog's personal schedule.