Escape to Dog Jail

In the morning, I roll out of bed, make myself two pieces of toast with cream cheese, jam, and wheat germ—the same breakfast my father has eaten every day for upwards of 26 years—and then hop on my bike and head to Dog Jail. The bike is stationary (but sadly not a Peloton) and Dog Jail is an idyllic island community populated by me, my boyfriend, and a …

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