Most summer mornings, a delightful drama plays out in the park behind our house. It involves a sprinkler. And a bulldog. About 6:30 or so, the sprinklers come on. Shortly thereafter, Fifi the bulldog (our family’s name for her) arrives.

Fifi’s owner lets her off her leash. The bulldog sprints with all her might to the nearest sprinkler, attacking the stream of water as it douses her face. If Fifi could eat the sprinkler, I think she would. It’s a portrait of utter exuberance, of Fifi’s seemingly infinite desire to be drenched by the liquid she can never get enough of.

There…