Came home tonight to happy dog who needed to pee, pretty much normal. The warm temps have melted most of the snow, so the backyard is a bit of a muddy mess, and Sadie of course traipsed through the mud like normal. I put a rug in the breezeway to capture some muddy dog footprints, and I tried teaching her to wipe her feet (unsuccessfully), and we went inside. She made a beeline for the bed, and I stopped her from jumping up with a quick "no". I proceeded to feed the cats, then came back into the kitchen.

Dog was gone.

I looked around for her. Looked in the bedroom, looked in the living room, looked in the kitchen. No dog. Then I looked in the bathroom, and there she was, in the tub.

Waiting to get her foots washed.

The last time we did this was after I got back from the Gulag and tore up the yard. Then it was a pretty regular thing whenever it rained. "In the tub" was the command, and it was actually a pretty dog-happy thing; it was a lot of attention like petting, then some playful toweling off.

But she made the connection today, all by herself.

When stuff like that happens, it's a little bit of magic.