Jenny, who is a dog, watches entirely more TV than I do these days. She can’t read, yet, but she has figured out which buttons on the remote control do what, and she’s learned to identify the voices and the theme music of the programs she likes best.

When I say she watches TV, what I mean, of course, is that she turns the TV on and listens to the programs. I asked her one time what she saw, when she stares at the screen, and she said, “Ghosts.” She’s a little spooked by it, I think, and so she mainly listens. She likes the educational channels best, it seems.

I came home today to the strains of Daily Planet’s end-credit theme music, blaring. She’d turned the volume up as high as it’d go, then wandered to the kitchen to listen to the ghosts speak.

“Learning lots?” I said.

“Bullet train,” she said. “Inter-nash-null space station. GMO grain.”

“Good,” I said, cracking a beer. Long day.

“Can I have GMO grain? Supper?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

“And liver. Liver good.”