SHELTER

ou know when spring arrives, and you see the mommy ducks with their. There’s an overwhelming sense of looming disaster, and no matter how many radishes I pick or groundhogs I butcher, I know it won’t be enough to keep all five of my precious badger children alive. I’m so committed to failure, in fact, that I almost leave one of my offspring behind because I assume they’re already dead, as a means of the game warning me how grim things are going to get. In fact, I’ve never been more glad not to be a badger, and that’s saying something.