You learned to call them by their names—Minnie and Huey, Bambi and Daisy. You made barking sounds when you came across Pluto, and asked if Dumbo (with his own mouse Timothy, no less!) was the flying version of Ganesh. Goofy’s protruding teeth were so frightening that you turned the page quickly so as not to see his face.We found a potty at Crawford Market with a portrait of Donald Duck on the backrest. You liked it so much that you sat on it for what seemed hours—perhaps that’s what made you so constipated from the start. Sometimes you balanced on the footrests, standing unsteadily and scrunching your face in exertion, but it didn’t help. You made a quacking sound with each success. “What has Donald Duck done?” I asked, and together, we both said, “Laid an egg.”Mrs. Dugal boasted about her daughter’s productivity—how Pinky filled up her container, sometimes twice, every morning. She gave me a bottle of oily green medicine for you. “Mr. Dugal swallows a spoonful or two whenever he can’t go, but for Munna, a few drops should do.”
