Here’s exactly what I think Otterpop can hear now.

A big space. A lot of nothing. I don’t think she can hear at all.

I do think she can read lips. Waving arms. Smiley faces. Frowny faces. Clapping. Reaching into my pocket to pull out a cookie. Pointing fingers. I think she can see this all from quite far away. So her eyes are smokin’ good.

But no ears. Nada. Not a thing. And I think she may have been tricking me about this fact for quite some time.

About three hundred thousand times every day I say, “OTTERPOP!” At least. Maybe three million. Maybe three hundred million.

She sneaks herself into the dirty clothes bin.

“OTTERPOP!”

She’s observed heading towards the trash.

“OTTERPOP!”

I believe she’s trying to sneak into the garage where the dog food lives.

“OTTERPOP!”

She’s got her eye on a jack russel over there, with a ball.

“OTTERPOP!”

Oh, the chickens have appeared at work!

“OTTERPOP!”

Oh, Banksy has the ball!

“OTTERPOP!”

Oh, I’m just setting my dinner down here on the couch for a minute.

“OTTERPOP!”

Gustavo has such a nice comfy spot there in the pillows.

“OTTERPOP!”

Nobody tip Ruby over.

“OTTERPOP!”

Mail lady’s here.

“OTTERPOP!”

Here comes Shorty the free-range basset/corgi/pitbull from around the block.

“OTTERPOP!”

And so on, how our day goes. Every day. All day. It’s a habit.

Guess it’s time to change the habit, Otterpop.