The rain started last night, but it was a light rain I barely heard. Before bed, the dogs went out anyway. They don’t mind getting wet. My kitchen floor, washed yesterday, has a trail of dog paw prints from the door down the hall. I’ll wash it later as the prediction is for clouds, not rain. It will be in the high 50’s today. Even the ugliest days are getting warmer.

Nala’s ear looks so much better. The lump is gone, and most of the redness inside her ear is also gone, but she is still not 100%. She didn’t eat her biscuit this morning. Henry ate both of them. I gave her some cheese hoping to hide her morning pills in it, but she didn’t eat the cheese so I had to put the pills down her throat. A bit later, she did manage to eat some of my English muffin on which I had slathered extra butter to entice her. She always expects the best.

When I cook eggs, usually for supper instead of breakfast, I mostly fry them sunny side though I do scramble them every now and then for a change. I always have two pieces of toast, one piece per egg for sopping purposes.

When I was in Ghana, I used to buy my eggs in the market. The man from whom I bought them always made sure I got good eggs so I would be back. My mornings eggs were fried in groundnut oil. They were the tastiest eggs. The rest of my meal was two pieces of toast with margarine on top and coffee. Later in the morning, after teaching my first class, I’d have another cup of coffee.

When I visit Ghana, breakfast is usually included wherever I stay. At one hotel in Tamale, they served porridge and fruit then two eggs and toast. At every place, the eggs have cooked yolks. The bread is often sugar bread. For the coffee, they bring hot water in a cup, small packages of ground instant coffee, one per cup, sugar cubes and canned milk.

When I visited my parents, my father sometimes cooked me Sunday breakfast. It was my universal breakfast of fried eggs, toast and coffee.

Every morning now I have two cups of coffee. Sometimes I have toast or a bagel or biscotti, all of which I share with the dogs. I dunk the last of the biscotti for them. They both like a bit of coffee.

The morning is cloudy and rain is predicted. It is damp and chilly, in the 50’s. I have no plans for the day. Yesterday I did make it to the dump but first was a stop at the emergency vet. Nala had a hugely swollen ear flap which she didn’t have the day before. She was tilting her head and shaking it. Her ear was an ominous red. At first I thought I’d wait until today so I didn’t have to pay the walk-in amount of $240, but I decided she needed to be seen before it got worse. Nala couldn’t have been better. Everyone loved her and thought her beautiful. The doctor told me they were all smitten with her. Nala was diagnosed with an infection which I had already figured she had. They drained her ear and gave me drops and pills for her. Her ear already looks better.

When I was a kid, our boxer Duke got into a horrific fight with the dog down the street. His neck was gnawed open. My mother wanted to take him to the vets, but my father thought Duke would be fine on his own. My father was only home weekends back then as he had been transferred, and we were waiting to move after school was out. My mother took advantage of his absence and brought Duke to the vets. When my father got home, Duke was much better. “See,” he told my mother. She smiled and agreed.

My father used to say he wanted to come back in life as one of our pets, all of whom have been spoiled. He also said that when he died we should just wheel him down the street to the cemetery you could see from my parents’ house. We opted to go the more traditional way.

When my dad was a kid, he wore corduroy knickers. He hated the swishing sound the pants made when he walked. My dad was into being cozy. Around the house he always wore his boxer shorts so when he’d sit on the couch and watch TV, he’d wrap a blanket around himself. His snacks were always within arm reach. I gave him corduroy pants one Christmas. My mother thought he’d never wear them, but he did. The small wale of those corduroy pants had no swishing sound. He wore those pants until the wale pattern was gone. They had become his cozies. I bought him more pairs.