As I sit listening to her whine

I compose this post. I just completed the ever daunting task of bathing Daisy. She chills in her crate while she dries post cleansing. Although she practically turns her bed linens upside down freaking out and digging around in there. Is that normal?

Say, I don't believe I've ever breathed her name here, however most of you know we acquired Daisy back in November or December. I forget. Just add another, I like to say.

My back. My aching back. I inherited the lanky body of my ancestors, enlisting a hunch back when doing any sort of bending over. I admire those who do the same but with a nice flat back. Mine? You can hear the faint whistle of a freight train clickity-clacking through. Like a tunnel. See?

But she's clean. And because she's mostly basset I get to soak a cotton ball in this yummy smelling solution then stick it in one of the many crevasses of her intricate interior basset ears. Mmmmm. It doesn't stop there. Once I wedge the saturated ball I massage it for a good thirty seconds to break up any built up crazy waxy shit that accumulates. That's not all: I then swab all around these canyonlike chasms, making certain to leave no gunk behind. The odors emitted from the ear of a basset are not just dog smell. It's a scent that viciously reminds you of your responsibility to the dog. This time it didn't gross me out as nauseatingly as usual. Surprising considering I was not put on this earth to appreciate the dog. What a little persuasion will do to a mother and wife.