I was home for a few hours, recovering from the inevitable backlog of things to think about from traveling when the son of my hosts popped his head in my room to ask how my trip was. Before I could even respond with my broken Spanish about the fine treatment I had in Brussels, a little fuzzy, chirpping duckling jumped out from behind the slightly ajar door. You got it, a duckling.

He was kayaking somewhere on Saturday and saw it alone, so he and his grandfather decided to take it home with the intention of bringing it to their farm in the pueblo after it got a bit bigger. Oswaldo (or was it Waldo? their accents sometimes get me) jumped all around the house and followed the son everywhere he went like Mary and her lambs or the movie Fly Away Home. Despite the family’s initial misgivings and the jealousy of the dog, he was so adorable they couldn’t turn him away.

Sadly, when I came back from school yesterday to get a good picture of the new family member, we found out that Oswaldo didn’t make it through the afternoon. Three days of bouncing off beds and sofas to follow the son, stealing the attention of every camera and cellphone in the house, and living in a cardboard box that he could nearly jump through the handle of–all on a diet of bread crumbs soaked in water–I think he probably had a bit too much excitement in his life. What a cutie, but some things just aren’t supposed to be inside.

D.E.P. (R.I.P. in Spanish)
All who wish may visit his grave sight in the park near our house.