the dog's fish

This is the fish. It has no name. It isn't that we don't love the fish, we don't name it for its own good. We've found, through trial and error, that when you name a fish, it quickly dies.

It's the dog's fish. We felt that Lucy needed some company during the day, so we got her a fish. Granted, she can't see into the fish bowl unless she's up on the bed, which she isn't allowed to be on at all really. In fact, Adam just got a new queen sized mattress which is considerably taller than the bed he had before, and Summer was downstairs earlier this week after the mattress had arrived, and said she heard a loud thud on the floor, which she believed to be Lucy trying to jump up on the bed but finding the bed higher than it used to be, so she didn't make it. I suspect she was trying to get up there to have a nice chat with her fish, you know, face to face. But even just the presence of another living thing in the room has got to do something for her.

The fish likes jazz. And fish food. And faces. When I look at the fish, it swims right up to the side of the bowl I'm looking in on, and swims past my eyes very slowly, looking right at me. It's a very intense fish.