Battersea Nonsense

Ryu Inu

I have the profoundly unhappy responsibility to write the news that Ryu Inu passed away on August 24th. He was in my arms when he trotted over the Rainbow Bridge. Some of you knew of Ryu's recent diagnosis of kidney failure made earlier this year, just shy of his 15th birthday. His prognosis was quite good, although our veterinarian made clear to me at the time that his at-home treatments would only manage the situation rather than cure it. At the same time, his cognitive abilities worsened over the summer. His eyesight was going dark and his ears were falling quiet, making the recognition of his surroundings very difficult. It was funny the first few times that I found him stuck behind a toilet or closet door. It quickly stopped being funny as the plainness of his growing helplessness became clear. Overall, his body was telling anyone who could see it that it was saying goodbye. I had no idea it would happen so quickly, as his condition worsened precipitously two weeks ago. Ryu w...

A good morning

This morning, I woke up with James -- having stayed the night at his place. I'm on vacation for two weeks (a "stay"-cation, meaning that I'll take advantage of the time to wander around Chicago). James and I decided to stay at each other's place twice each week. He made coffee and switched on the local news while I figured out how to get hot water out of the shower. Patrick showed off his responsiblity-muscles, looking after himself at home in addition to the two dogs under our care. Kygo, a bottle-rocket doofus of a dog, is staying with us while his humans are out of town: Gohar has gone to Kazakhstan to visit her family, while Andrew was sent to a work training program in Indiana (or, Ohio?). We are looking after Kygo for the next week. Patrick hasn't been feeling his best, so I was relieved on hearing from him this morning that he had woken up early to get himself ready for school as well as walk both dogs. On the parent side of the spectrum, his success ...

Wicker Duck

This is a wicker duck carrying a small garden of succulents in its back. I did not buy this duck. This duck was a gift. An unexpected gift from one of my student employees whose last day with us was yesterday. She has finished her classes, clubs, and internships -- y les hizo a sus padres, inmigrantes de México, el mar de orgulloso de ella -- so will graduate in two weeks. I cried on receiving the duck. She went wide-eyed and mortified on realizing t hat she had given a duck to someone named Donald. Then we both laughed. Looking at my wicker duck, the disappointments and heartbreaks recede away from the certainty that the joy one earns along the path of serving others is always worth the risks. My (now former) employee will experience her own ups and downs in the life that stretches out in front of her. No doubt, on one day when she needs it most, someone will give her her own wicker duck.

The Kids Aren't The Same

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