Food For Fish

This is probably the most boring post to anyone but my nephews and most children under the age of 6.

Andrew and I have two fish.

While in the our tree house – the apartment we shared between marriage and house – we were unable to have Winston with us because of space and space and space. Have I mentioned he is huge?

Andrew is a pet person.  The more living things he has to love, the better.  So one night Andrew came home with a little bag that wiggled and sloshed around.  I wondered what was inside.

He lifted his bright face up from looking at the bag with affection and said, “I bought a fish! Isn’t that great?! I got the one with the most personality…I think.”

He pulled back the bag and revealed a dark blue beta with a red flare.  He thrashed around the bag and seemed to beg for us to release him.

It doesn't look like it but this thang will throw rocks around his bowl.

It doesn't look like it but this thang will throw rocks around his bowl.

So we did.  And he was a wonderful pet.  He was entertaining when he needed to be and laid back when we wanted him to be.  We loved him and soon…we were tempted, tempted to get another.

Even though Beta fish are notorious for eating each other, we felt that he needed a companion.  Why…I still don’t know.

So one dark night the door blew open and in came Andrew again carrying with him our new friend and pet.  Or so we thought.

Our second fish was not so ideal.  He was a ghostly white (more like clear) and the minute we put him in his bowl he started to charge.  He raced from side to side and crashed into the walls of his prison.  He opened and closed his mouth angrily every time someone approached him.  He caused our first fish to puff out his cheeks and extend his long red fins.

Once a friend came over and the evil fish spent the entire time staring at her.  No kidding.

He knows...see he is looking at the camera with distain.

He knows...see he is looking at the camera with distain.

One day I walked into the room and found him wedged between the big black rocks in his bowl.  I thought he might be trying to commit suicide.  Then again he may have been trying to lure me over to him so he could try to eat me.

Every time I clean his house I scoop him out and before I can get him into his temporary home he hops out onto the toilet or the floor or the dresser or the tub.  He is trying to escape…or commit suicide.

Do you think they have a fish version of the Dog Whisper?

In other news: I told Joey that Clare was going to look exactly like Uncle Andrew.  He gave me a strange look and said, “RED HAIR! AND BIG SHIRTS!!!” Yes Joey….she will be born with big shirts.

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