I spent most of my morning outside with Henk the Pup. Usually, I take my class readings with me and plop myself on the bench at the dog park letting Henk run with his latest playmate as my 38-week pregnant self tries to concentrate on academia. The mix of pregnancy and my Adhd doesn’t fair well with these long articles, but I do my best. Usually, my stay in the park turns into a couple of hours as new friends come through the gates which are followed by conversations about k-9 health and general information.
“I’m here because we’re on strike.” says the owner of two small dogs.
“Ahh, all i know is that the farmer’s are on strike this week, ceasing the delivery of fresh produce along with milk and eggs” I reply. “You don’t look like a farmer”. I comment.
She laughs. “The state attorney’s office have been on strike for a week.”
I choose not to ask further. And change topics.
On my way out of the park itself, I am blocked by enthusiastic toddlers who are waving their sticky hands at Henk the Pup and speaking in tongues. I command Henk to sit and let him interact with the kids. It’s good for him to smell babies. He happily licks the yogurt from their hands, and cleans their sticky necks.
A older Polish woman brings a small girl to face henk. She hesitates behind the woman’s pastel polyester skirt. Her hands grip the fabric exposing the woman’s swollen ankles. “You have some time, you don’t look like you’ve dropped” she tells me. As the big-blue eyed girl wanders off to teach herself to walk. “Don’t tell me that!” I sigh outloud, “Maybe he’s just really long?” I answer in hope.
The woman is the same age as my father would have been if he were still alive. About 75. She is from Warsaw and had her first child at 18. The small girl is the 8th child of her granddaughter. That makes her a great-grandmother. “I speak 6 languages” she tells me glowing. “You hear that?” she perks up. “She called me Bubala”. She says smiling, her whiskers shining in the sunlight.
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