Thinking on Sinks
Scout came up to bed and tried to drink water that wasn’t there. Her bowl was empty, the second one we fill only sometimes up in the bedroom. The other bowl, the main one made of ceramic with “Chien” written on it lives in the kitchen and it’s almost always full.
I don’t believe she thinks about where the water comes from, she just expects it to be there. It’s where she drinks from because she’s not tall enough to get into the toilet the way Archie does.
If that water stopped coming, because we forgot or we abandoned them, I wonder how far their thinking on the subject would go, and how far it would get them. Not terribly, I should think.
I don’t believe she thinks about where the water comes from, she just expects it to be there. It’s where she drinks from because she’s not tall enough to get into the toilet the way Archie does.
If that water stopped coming, because we forgot or we abandoned them, I wonder how far their thinking on the subject would go, and how far it would get them. Not terribly, I should think.
To think of the vast gulf between their understanding and where water comes from is almost overwhelming. Their knowledge ends at the waterbowl placed before them, but reality extends beyond the faucet, the pipes, the pump, the well, the filters, the mountains, the rain, the weather, the climate. The pipes themselves were manufactured from steel, steel forged from iron mined from earth dug up.
They understand almost nothing about the work put in behind the scenes to keep them hydrated. But we, the one’s doing the work, still love them and bring them bowls of water to drink from, even though they never say thank you.