Olivia wanted a pet. She’s wanted a pet for months and months now. At first it was deep sighs and desperate pleadings for a kitty {and why not? Lyssy and ‘Azanah have at least seventeen!) And then it was gentle recollections: “remember when we had a doggie, Mom?” One day a few weeks ago Olivia asked me first thing: “Mom, can we go visit Cowboy today?”
An explanation of why that was not possible was followed with the statement, emphasized with all the feeling of a four year old heart: “I want a pet so bad.”
And so on Monday Wyatt surprised us all, saying: “Tonight for family home evening we will go to the store and get some pet fish.”
That evening, kids in tow, we visited our local PetSmart. We looked at the brightly colored canaries in their cages, we oohed at the bright tree frogs, and awed at the ginormous gilla monsters. Then we looked at the fish: Gold Fish were only 13¢ per. But the Betas: 30x more in cost, were 50x more hearty. So we were told by the acne-prone teenager with his pants cinched too high. I’m partial to Beta’s myself. Our 26¢ excursion turned into $11.79 with food.
As we climbed into the car, balancing plastic tuperwares of fish and water, we asked each elated child: what will you name your fish.
Olivia said emphatically: Cursey. I don’t know where she came up with the name.
And Cal said, as if he had thought over the “coolness” implications long and hard: “Fish, the Dawg!”
So much has happened in the past month, and I’ve been so busy I haven’t been able to write it all down. But I wanted to take a moment and write about what happened over the weekend . . .
