There will come a moment during the 2009 NFL season when Michael Vick does something athletically extraordinary or competitively remarkable and, reflexively, I will marvel aloud at it.
Then I will look down on the Berber carpeting in our basement TV room and see her. Sophie, our beagle mix, will be lying next to my comfy chair, her paws tucked in front of her, her head down and those big, chocolate-brown eyes staring up at me. Plaintively. And I will shudder.