Under siege in Ukraine, I mourn our little dog

The 1,363rd night of Russia’s full-scale invasion. Kyiv. My girlfriend, Dasha, and I are at home. I am watching our elderly Chihuahua, Quicky, in the kitchen. A weak, withered, tiny old dog, he is standing there, confused, trying to remember what he wanted – his bed or a drink of water. He is 12 years old, a grandfather in dog years. Grandpa wanders through the apartment all night, forgetting where he hid his beloved green bone. But it hasn’t always been like this. Dasha named