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So Leo trudged to Doctor Dill the Duck, who wore tiny spectacles and had a very calm, feathery way of explaining things.
Leo slept with his head on Pillow Mountain. And in the middle of the night, he woke up just enough to take a long, silent breath through his nose.
Not just a little sniffly. Clogged like a cave with a boulder in front of it. Clogged like a straw with a pea stuck inside.
Doctor Dill led Leo into a warm bathroom, turned on the shower as hot as safe, and closed the door. The room filled with soft, floating steam.
Doctor Dill mixed warm water with a pinch of salt in a little blue bottle shaped like a genie’s lamp. “This is a nose bath,” he explained. “Lean over the sink, tilt your head, and pour gently into one nostril. It will come out the other side like a magic waterfall.”
That night, Doctor Dill tucked Leo into bed but added a second pillow. “Lying flat lets the stuffy settle like mud in a puddle,” he said. “But if you raise your head— mountain high —the mud slides down and your nose can breathe.”
Ahhhhhh.
Leo was nervous. But he tried. And whoosh —clear, salty water ran through his nose-bridge and out the other side. It didn’t hurt. It just felt… clean. Like washing mud off a window.
