This morning, I was in the middle of dumping coffee into our French press, when Pooch happened by. She stopped, did a little tap routine and stared at me expectantly. I said some words. She did another little dance, this time with a song. I said more words. Satisfied with our exchange, Pooch continued to her crate (which is more of a large tent with windows) to do whatever the hell she does in her crate. Sometimes she likes to lick her bed very slowly, eyes closed. But I digress.
I returned to my coffee-making-project, only to realise that I had no idea how many measuring spoons I'd already put in. So I guessed. The result is pictured below. Look at that! That is blacker than Satan's personal exit tunnel, that is... But hey, I'm awake.