Butler

It occurred to me yesterday that I adopted Zoe for free. She was basically a wild wolf the day I brought her home; we've come so far!

It's 6am PST and my levain was loved up and ready to go. My apartment is super drafty so climate control is hard which makes maintaining a sourdough starter difficult. I've done the light on in the oven thing. It works most times. I've also melted one 12qt cambro and another 6qt cambro because I forgot they were in there and preheated the oven. Container melts. Starter lost. I spiral every time. I have dehydrated starter saved up, but it still sucks. It means I have to wait another 48 hours to make bread. That means no hot dog or hamburger buns, biscuits, batards, fougasses. Nada. I've had lunch meat go off, cheese get moldy. It's a frustrating Cascade because I melted my sourdough starter. Maintaining a healthy starter is like caring for a gerbil at 12 but with a deeper understanding of the responsibilities. When I murder the fucker, it feels like I've ovened my gerbil and her delicious possibility babies.

I always check on Zoe in the middle of the night if she decides to sleep by the door. It helped when I learned that Great Pyrenees do that, but I'm still always a little butthurt when she does it. Still, I check on her in the drafty living room and cover her with a bougie teddy bear comforter then go back to bed. This morning, however, I heard the doorknob rattle in a familiar way. She's done this before I want to train her to keep doing it; she hits the knob to let me know she wants in. I opened the door and lo and behold the bitch bounces in and looks to the bed. It's a King-sized giant so up she goes post 3rd invite. Never on the first. Why dogs, why?? I'm looking at you too, Garvey (RIP) And as a result, we have the picture in the header.

So, I'm up baking bread as the butler. She's napping like the youngest child of a geriatric millennial that she is. Oh, what a life. Glad you're enjoying it, Zoe.