The Butterfly Returns

I ran across the butterfly today by chance. It had not really gone away. I thought when it disappeared that it might have found a way out of the house. But today it was wandering on the carpet by the window in the dining room and looking very weak.

I took it to the kitchen and tried to make artificial flowers for it, filling paper cupcake liners with sugar water, lemonade and orange juice.

The butterfly seemed to have trouble getting to the substitute nectar, so I placed a few drops within close reach.

The prognosis for the butterfly did not look good, but that was the best I could do. Then I returned to Bow in the pens, and I uploaded the videos. I thought Bow might like to see the butterfly close up in the video. He has a view of the kitchen from the pens, so he was watching me the whole time and knew what I was up to. But seeing the video might interest him, I thought.

Bow watched the video of the butterfly twice, very quietly and serenely. Then Youtube suggested some other videos to watch. Bow seemed interested, so I selected one about migrating Monarch butterflies. The narrator in the other video said that butterflies arriving in November were considered to be the returning souls of the dead. Bow began to rock. Another speaker came on, and Bow was clearly displeased, rocking and making raspberries. I paused the video and asked Bow if everything was okay now. He seemed much more calm, but then he started to try to type. I did not see this at once, but on the screen it said: "Leave a comment." However, there was no place to leave a comment on the current screen, so Bow's typing did not show.

After he tired of this activity, Bow asked to go outside.

When he was outside, Bow was much less quiet and restrained. He used his outdoor voice and displayed at the dogs. There is a time for all things, and for every thing a season. A time to listen and a time to talk. A time to scream and a time to be silent. But our poor butterfly, I'm afraid, picked the wrong time to emerge form its pupal stage. The odds are against it.