At the Ice Age’s busiest cave complex, Dr. Phil has been appointed chief mammoth parking coordinator. He studies tusk clearance, snowbank angles, and each animal’s willingness to reverse without making the situation personal. When one woolly commuter occupies two spaces, he calmly redirects the herd and reminds everyone that boundaries still matter, even when they are made of packed ice.
By midday, traffic is moving, the cave entrance is unobstructed, and a particularly defensive mastodon has accepted a compact spot near the berry-storage annex. Dr. Phil marks the achievement on a slate, nods gravely, and prepares for the evening migration. Today's completely unnecessary Dr. Phil moment.











