"There's a dog in the oven," Silky says. 
     She's standing at the oven's door, staring into its darkened glass behind which I know there resides only a thin cookie sheet and the cast iron skillet in which we make our breakfast. 
     "Silky," I say, seeing the sparkle of her eyes reflected in the glass. "It's you." 
     Silky is adamant. "No," she says, shaking her head, "There's a dog in the oven. I can see it." 
     "Silky," I say, "Wag your tail." 
     She does. 
     "Is the dog in the oven wagging it's tail?" I ask. 
     "Yes!" Silky says, "Yes!" 
    But it's clear that Silky believes that this is only some magical coincidence, and that she wants even more to let the dog inside  the oven come out so that the two of them can play. 
     "Silky," I ask, "Is the dog in the oven pretty?" 
     Silky studies her new friend. She tilts here head to the left and then to the right. "Oh yes," she replies. "The prettiest dog I've ever seen." 
     "Well that proves it then," I tell her, and come tap the nose in the glass. 
     And inside the oven, with the skillet and cookie sheet, happiness ignites on the face of the most beautiful girl in the world.