Without our help, dogs have a lot of personality. Our beagle, Charlie, and our Cavalier King Charles spaniel, Layla, seem to have two completely different attitudes toward living life.

Charlie wears his heart on his furry sleeve, overflowing with emotion when he sees one of his handful of favorite humans, when he thinks it's time to eat, or when he sees a stranger walking a bit too close to our Del Ray yard. Layla, on the other hand, would be content to spend the rest of her life just quietly cuddling with us on the couch or sleeping on a pile of her treasured possessions in her crate. These are the lives of our dogs, at least on the surface.

But in our eyes, the dogs are way more complicated. Over the years, my girlfriend and I have developed various elaborate alternate lives that our dogs are leading.

Layla, adopted in Norfolk, always "talks" like a proper Southern lady. When Charlie is barking at strangers, trying to scare them away by yelling, Layla trails behind him, embarrassed for his rudeness and daintily trying to invite our neighbors in for a drink.

Charlie, on the other hand, was once a champion eater, dominating the Doggy Eating Competition circuit as he toured Alexandria, led along by his manager a high-energy Bichon Frise named Murphy. How they fit all this in among their already busy days of naps, meals and games of tug-of-war is beyond me.

Well, rest assured, I know that Layla doesn't actually drink sweet tea on our screened in porch while I'm at work. In reality, she probably curls up on the bed and naps all day long. And I know that Charlie never actually set a pizza eating record for his weight class at the Doggy Eating Olympics—he was too busy trying to sniff out stray pieces of kibble hidden around the house under couches and behind closed doors. But it is a lot of fun to think they have.