He loved watching her brush her hair. She seemed to spend hours doing it, but then he had no hair so it was an activity he really couldn't fathom. The long, patient strokes gave a shine to her hair that he was almost jealous of, but he loved her too much for jealousy. She was everything to him, and even the simple, everyday act of brushing her hair could make him stop whatever he was doing and watch her, rapt. Something about her brushing her hair brought out a smell that was unlike anything he'd ever smelt. Maybe it was something to do with the shampoo she'd let him use once or twice, but it never smelt the same on him. But when she was done brushing, if she came over to him and he caught a sniff, well, that smell was etched in his mind forever.

The grace with which she moved fascinated him. She'd put the brush against her head, then ease it downwards while her other hand helped lift her hair. He couldn't mimic it, although he'd tried. And he didn't have the hair for it. She moved unlike anyone else he'd ever seen, and the way she held herself spoke of a comfort and confidence he could only hope to achieve. Next to her he felt clumsy and awkward, but she apparently loved him anyway and knowing that made him feel warmer than anything else.

He watched as she put the brush down on the table, a few hairs choosing to go with the brush rather than stay with her. He lamented those hairs, but as long as the didn't affect her, and she didn't seem to mind, he didn't let it worry him.

The brush abandoned, the brushing done with for now, she walked over to him.

"Well, Mr. Stinky," she said, and he grinned like an idiot. "Is it time to change your diaper?"