One thing that Daisy likes to tell me, when she’s feeling a bit Lacanian, is that I am an animal at the mercy of language. How sorry for me she feels, she says. Now, don’t think that I don’t point out to her the irony of her words. If I am at the mercy of language, I say, so are you by telling me so! But she looks at me blankly to make her point. She is a clever dog. Language, she says (in her silence), calls out to you. It doesn’t call out to me. If you say you to me, I hear nothing. If I was to say you to you, how you would sit up! You’d listen. You’d accept your place in my sentence – no question! Here you are, after all, listening to me. And so it is! You had to come before that verb, didn’t you? You’re in! That’s why I feel sorry for you, she adds, laying her head down upon her paws.