Craig and Poppy

 

I've made an application for this little munchkin. The questionnaire was long and detailed and maybe it is in my imagination but I thought the designers of the questionnaire were the type who want a perfect life for every dog. Whether I can come up to the mark is anyone's guess. Poppy is 10 so she is old enough to be undemanding but hopefully not old enough to have an immediate health crisis.

Her eyes have the same intense quality that Sally had in her one eye and I foolishly imagine she will be the same kind of personality. Foolish because she isn't and never will be Sally and I know that but part of me hopes to get Sally back, so to speak.

I realise this is crazy, I also know that I will adore any dog when I can appreciate their unique qualities.

At work I have a few "frequent flyers" who show up at the office door wanting help with administrative tasks and while I like the interaction, it really takes all my available brain power to do the things that I am supposed to do.

One frequent flyer is Craig (his name isn't Craig but I accidentally called him Craig once. I probably shouldn't reinforce that faulty neural pathway but here we are)

The first time I met Craig was the day his mum was admitted. He looked like death warmed up: pale, weak and tired. He was sweet and deferential to me and on the verge of tears. As I slowed down to pay attention to him, the story tumbled out. His mum had a fall and landed in hospital at the same time that he had a cancer diagnosis. He had a couple of options for treatment and made the choice for a less aggressive treatment which would allow him to get out of hospital and organise his mum's admission to aged care. The day we met he had come direct from hospital where he had undergone a key hole surgery and been burnt by the instruments.

Craig had a rough recovery and his problems are ongoing but he is looking a lot better these days and has been in a couple of times recently having a panic about the documents he needs for his mum's government assistance. Yesterday I offered him a seat, printed the documents that have previously been emailed to him and asked how mum is going with the transition to aged care. His speech is punctuated with apologies for "being a pain" and gratitude for the help. He left to go and visit mum but was soon back with a tin of biscuits I recognised as the Christmas gift all residents were given.

He shakily eased the lid off the tin "Do you like these, Kylie? Will you eat them? I won't eat these, will you have them?" 

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth I grinned and said I shouldn't eat them but I probably would. 

Craig handed them over and said his goodbyes while I slid the biscuits into a drawer. Next time I'm cranky about being overwhelmed and under appreciated there will be a tin of biscuits to tell me otherwise.