Kira has her lasers locked on, urging me to catch her stare. She knows that I’m boiling chicken thighs for her dinner. Thighs, chard, brown rice. After being lazy for a week and dishing out food from a can of mixed contents that even give a dog pause, all four misfits are more than ready for a real meal. So I locked on with the big dog and said: “Yes Kira, I’m making you a nice dinner.” She looked relieved and happy. She knew about longing, and waiting. She just needed reassurance that all was as it should be. I was making her something good. Although when I finally did put her dish down I still have a bit of a problem with the fact that she just engulfs it in seconds and never even says: “Dad, that was fucking delicious!” I don’t get that satisfaction. But then, she did ask for more, and looked at the pot on the stove. She knew there was a whole batch, sitting right there. I told her: “ No girl, that’s for tomorrow.” She asked me: “ What is tomorrow?”... I had no answer for her.
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