The beaver is a proud and noble animal
Notes from a bemused canuck
I organised a Porto tasting for the Nestlé wine club tonight. It was one of the bigger ones, with 32 people attending. I’m super happy that it went off without a hitch, and everyone enjoyed themselves, learned a bit about Porto, and tasted some very nice wines. Everyone was super complimentary about it. This makes me happy.
My name is Chonk, how can I help you today?
Have you tried barking at it?
How about peeing on it?
We were dropping Ben off at the foyer this morning and I asked Katy to swing by the office so I could drop off bottles for an upcoming Porto tasting I’m organising. Chonk was not impressed at being woken up so early.
On the plus side, he had a blast with the post trolley I borrowed from main reception. He kept chasing after it and jumping on to ride it like a skateboard in the parking lot.
It’s hard being a working chonk.
Human, we need to talk about the lack of snacks.
Also, I love you.
Went to take Byron for a walk. The wind was blowing something fierce, broken branches everywhere. Byron had the wind in his ears and was loving it. We went to the beach and he got his paws wet in the lake. On the way back, we walked along the waterfront. The noise of the boats jangling around didn’t bother him, but he definitely took serious offence with a kite in the Parc. Full-on growling, barking, ears back, babines showing teeth. But then we went home and all was well.
Byron helped me to vacuum and mop the floors this morning, in his own inimitable way.
There is a greater darkness than the one we fight.
It is the darkness of the soul that has lost its way.
The war we fight is not against powers and principalities,
it is against chaos and despair.
Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope,
the death of dreams.
Against this peril we can never surrender.
The future is all around us,
waiting in moments of transition,
to be born in moments of revelation.
No one knows the shape of that future,
or where it will take us.
We know only that it is always born in pain.
Everyone always coming to Zathras with problems. Great responsibilities. But Zathras does not mind. Zathras trained in crisis management. But only Zathras have no one to talk to. No one manages poor Zathras, you see. So Zathras talks to dirt. Sometimes talks to walls, or talks to ceilings. But dirt is closer. Dirt is used, through everyone walking on it. Just like Zathras, but we’ve come to like it. It is our role. It is our destiny in the universe.