It seems as though there are fewer and fewer places to hide from the spectre of Coronavirus. Even those of us who set out on a conversation trying to discuss something, anything other than the impending wave, there is no escaping the momentum of what surrounds us.
And so, in the midst of swimming, paddling, gasping for breath, I surface for a gulp of air to bring you something, anything other than the impending wave. Because I am sure I will write about it. Just…not today.
Today, amid all the craziness, this guy on my desk caught my eye.
This…is Ruffus. He’s my buddy. We’ve been together pretty much since my first year of teaching in Loudoun County, Virginia, and he’s followed me across three states, four districts, eight schools, at least fifteen classrooms and twenty-five years of teaching.
We’ve been through all kinds of things together. He’s been my demo dog for math lessons, a companion animal to many students, and he’s been the “talking stick” for countless class meetings and heart-to-heart conversations.
He may be just a tiny six inches long. His fur may be fading, and the paint on his eyes may be chipping away bit by bit, and his belly might be held together with some very amateur stitches in absolutely the wrong color.
But he’s seen so much, and heard so much, and done so much.
I think I’ll keep him around a little while longer.