“Isn’t dad going to eat with us,” John asked, placing an empty plate before his father’s chair. 

“No,” his mother replied, turning off the stove and sitting at the table. “He had a bad day at dialysis.”

“What was the problem this time?”

“His blood pressure was too low,” she said, cutting the chicken coated by brown gravy. “The nurse pumped 3 pounds of saline inside him so I could bring him home.”

“Is there anything we can do at home to keep it normal?”

“No. He needs salt, and salt isn’t good for him.”

Frowning, John’s once always smiling Father’s face slept safe distance from the table, his head tilted toward the lamp light living beside him. 

“Think Lady would mind it if I put a bird feeder in the back yard? I’m afraid that she would bark at the birds and scare them all away.”

“Why don’t you just put one in the front,” Mom asked.

“Because I wouldn’t be able to watch them while I was eating supper.”