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I’ve been working the farmers’ market booth for the college every other weekend this summer. Koda, my boxer dog, has become the official alumni booth dog.

I endure the jokes, “Is she an alumni?” Although I did take her to a class or two during my undergraduate program, she is not an alumni.

“Is she a current student?” Yes, yes she is. Here’s a schedule, she’s taking every class.

And, lastly, people walk up to her and looking at me briefly, they say, “We have boxers.” I’ve figured out that this is code for: I’m going to crouch down now and let your dog kiss me on the mouth for an uncomfortably extended amount of time, but don’t worry- we have boxers.

I’ve fielded every imaginable question about the college. Yes, we have six athletic teams. No, we don’t have a football team, but the town has a rugby team. Yes, the college is forty years old but looks like it’s much younger. No, there are no dead people buried on campus. (The last question was from my favorite tour to date. High school students tend to look at me as a person who is only a couple years older than themselves. What could I possibly know? Middle school students, however, look at me like I’m wearing a cape and could show them my superhero talents at any moment. The last question was from a middle school tour.)

The questions that I could have never been prepared to answer in rapid succession pertaining to Koda were, “How old is she?”

“She’s almost three.”

“Is she smart?”

Well, she has mud stuck in her jowls and she’s missing a tooth because she enjoys carrying rocks around in her mouth. I have to feed her because she has no thumbs, and when she runs out of water, she carries her water bowl around until I fill it.

The apology followed shortly after, the woman realized that I didn't have a simple answer for her. She explained that she was thinking about getting a boxer and wondered if they were smart.

To me, this was akin to walking up to a mom pushing a stroller and saying, “Shouldn’t that kid be able to walk by now? Oh, and she has spitup on her face, is that normal? I’m just asking because I’m thinking of procreating one day and I wanted to make sure that kids are fully self-reliant creatures before I embark on that journey.”

Leaving the farmers' market yesterday, I stopped to pick up a couple of rawhides for the dogs. Koda worked hard that morning, gently kissing two-foot-tall kids and gratefully accepting praise from old women who’d raised boxers their entire lives; she deserved a treat. And, Sonnie, my yellow lab, deserved a treat just because.

Although I got each of them a rawhide, they decided that they needed to fight over the one that was originally Sonnie’s. After lying on her untouched rawhide for a few minutes, Koda planned her attack on Sonnie’s half-chewed rawhide. Her planning never really worked to her benefit, but she couldn’t be accused of not trying.

They chased each other around the house, leaving trails of slobber down one another’s backs and necks.

Finally, Koda emerged as the winner, soggy rawhide in mouth. She barreled onto the couch and settled next to me. Sonnie huffed as she approached. The rawhide rested between Koda’s front paws, mere inches from Sonnie’s yellow snout.

Koda released a low growl and a bout of trademark boxer gas. Sonnie rocked her head back in retreat.

I buried my face in the collar of my shirt, laughing and plugging my nose.

As Koda crunched away on her rawhide trophy, I wondered how I hadn’t immediately said, “Yes, Koda is a genius,” to the stranger at the farmers’ market.