The ornamental cast-aways

 Reading: You Like It Darker by Stephen King

Listening to: Gentle Spring Jazz 

Outside: Daffodils and daisies flourish amidst "No Mow" May

So our daughter endures a change of heart. 

One of Lena's fish

As she approaches her first year as a teenager, my daughter has decided she no longer wants fish. Sure, fair enough. We all have a change of heart from time to time. That's natural. 

And sure, this fish (and its little friend, hiding around the tank somewhere), has been with us for years. Lena has taken care of them for the better part of half her life, with our help, and for that I am proud of her. They recognise her, and her voice, and they are beautiful ornaments in our tank.

I grew up with lots and lots of pets; sometimes it felt like at least once a month there was a new species taking up residence in my childhood home. We started with goldfish, as you do, (in those simple glass goldfish bowls, no filter or anything, how illegal is that now?!), and moved up to mammals - hamsters that would roll around in their plastic hamster ball all over the living room, much to our delight. Dogs, always dogs, at least one or two at a time. 

We had rabbits, guinea pigs, parakeets, ant farms. The rabbits would nap under our t-shirts as my sister and I lay down on the trampoline on summer afternoons. We had ducklings. They swam with us in the pool. How quickly they grew, by the way. I wasn't ready for our three mallards to completely transform from clumsy, fuzzy yellow chicks into bright, glistening, sleek teenagers, in the space of a few short weeks, and then fly off when they were ready. Gone forever to live their lives. (Although, when I looked up every autumn, I was pretty sure I saw them flying over our house.) 

My childhood was a series of hellos and goodbyes, dogs run away and parakeets that got eaten by raccoons. We had quite an extensive Pet Sematary at the edge of the woods near the Hosta plants, although at the time, only my mom got the joke. We didn't live on any kind of farm to speak of - our house was firmly suburban - but we learned about the circle of life relatively early. We learned, and lived, grief.

So yes, as a child I was happily refilling dog food bowls and freshening up cat water bowls; I was always ready with flea shampoo and fresh newspaper or sawdust, and always covered in mud and some kind of fur. 

But this isn't about me. My daughter, on the other hand, has lived an almost sterile life - no pet hair here! But fish, her father and I had decided years ago, were okay. 

But - can you connect with a fish? They certainly connect with you.

"You can't play with a fish," she complains, and I agree. You can't. But there is a certain magic to watching them swim around, peaceful. Perhaps you have to be close to middle age to appreciate it? 

So she struggles under the weight of the fish existing. She's ready for them to go to another home. I get it. So when they go, what next? 

I guess we'll look into something land-based. Something outside, something equine. In terms of species and size, you can't get much further from tropical fish than that. We'll trade in water top-ups, filter cleans and fish food flakes for a tack box, fresh hay and a manure fork. Get ready to roll up your sleeves, girl. Let's see if a stable can use your help. Adventures await.

Happy Thursday, everyone!