A Veritable Menagerie

The kids got pets.

Okay, they're only goldfish, but still.... This is a big-time animal commitment, for me.

Let's just say it: I am notnotnot a pet person. (Sorry, Sammi.) I've tried a few times. It never ends well. Dogs stink and are stupid-friendly. Cats are enormously presumptuous. (No, I do not want you on my lap. Or rubbing on my leg. Or walking on my counter with the same feet that walk in your toilet. But thanks for asking.) Oh, and their claws are a serious problem. And they all just need so much.... Walks, food, love, attention. I just don't have it to give right now.

Somehow I seem to have missed the pet gene. My sister has a golden doodle. He's huge. (Nice dog, but still a dog.) My brother is in the process of acquiring a Great Dane. One word: yikes.

Dad, being the farmboy he is, has always insisted that animals are just fine. As long as they're outside. I couldn't agree more. Mom is kind of a Crazy Cat Lady. Maybe that's where my brother and sister get it....

Goldfish are the best I can do.

Jensen brought his home from his summer school class yesterday (it's about ocean life). I thought he would pop. He was over the moon about his pet. And, because I'm a sucker, I went and bought Evan a 26-cent goldfish, too. Jensen's is named Charles. Evan's is named Blacktail. (Betcha can't guess what color its tail is.)

On two separate occasions yesterday I found the boys actually hugging the fishbowl.

I'm just glad Jensen isn't taking a summer school course on horses.