He brings me here, like, once a month. Goes to the counter and is like, "How much is the bath and blow-dry?" He asks every time. Every time. And I'm like, dude, even I know it's $30 at this point. He always says yes and hands me over, so does he really need this information? But I like ladywhosmellslikelotion (I think I overheard him calling her "Daniela.") I know we're headed to the place at least a hundred yards before we get within sight of it — let's just say the scent gets stronger as you approach. By the time I lay eyes on the pink-hued placard reading Junior's, I know a biscuit is coming. Biscuit. Biscuit. Sorry. Where was I? Okay, he stops at the counter and looks at the photos of all the other dogs as they flash across one of those "digital frames" (what's with you humans and your digital this and digital that?): Caramella the cocker, Nino the bijon frise-Maltese mix, Vicky the Yorky, Sasha and Seven (really?) the orangy toy poodles (really — I am cool with toy poodles), Milla the Pomeranian — one of the few pictured with their owners (guess we all just get handed over). And while he's standing there looking at the pixilated pictures float across the five-by-seven LCD frame (yes, some of us know a thing or two about your gadgets), I can smell 'em. I know every one of those dogs by its smell. So beautiful is the smell of biscuit. Biscuit. Biscuit. Once he tells the ladywhosmellslikelotion to do something called "fullgroomingwithfleaandtickdipanddshave," which I think runs him like $60 but which is soooooo worth every penny. (You ask, "Can you trust me as someone with no financial stake in this transaction, who reaps all its benefits?" Is that my problem? He knew the deal when he got me.) So when I'm all done — "fresh for summer," ladywhosmellslikelotion calls it — he pops through the door and plunks down his credit card and ladywhosmellslikelotion hands my leash over to him, and I stand up at the counter and biscuit and ... what was I saying? Biscuit.