if you want to get the dog's attention, whisper

Someone is in the next room ironing fancy clothes and watching television, getting ready for a big day tomorrow. I will take this opportunity to share her notable quotes from the weekend, brief but sweet moments of self-reflection.

I like toast.

It's true, she does. And in a profound way. There's something deeply comforting and steadying about the crunchiness of properly prepared toast: its forthright readiness to accept the burden of butter, jam, peanut butter, cinnamon & sugar, whatever you have to lay on it; its companionable buddying-up with a mug of hot cocoa; its miraculous transformation from simple bread to something much greater.

I have little feet.

Compared to some people, yes. Compared to others, no. It's all relative.

In other news, we learned that we've been doing Tula's ear-cleaning regimen ALL WRONG. Well, not all wrong, exactly, but only partly right. We took her to the vet on Saturday for general upkeep and maintenance, plus her annual rabies shot. Dr. Jeff peered into her ears with his otiscope and began a gentle third degree about our cleaning procedure. How many drops, how often, what kind of medicine, etc. He then drew a diagram to illustrate the anatomical challenges of the inner dog ear. You have the floppy flap of the outer ear. You have the visible canal of the inner ear. But then, impishly and unexpectedly, the inner ear canal makes a wicked 45 degree turn and dives out of sight. No wonder her ears still itch; we've literally been just scratching the surface for the past two years. We're now armed with state-of-the-art flushing technology: a bottle of apple-blossom scented Oti-Clean fluid. Our instructions are to fill up her ear like it's a furry teapot, rub the base of her ear to swoosh things around, and then swab up the ensuing mess. It's a tea party in the bathroom! But this is one apple-scented tea party we're happy to attend. Three flushes in, things are already looking better.