Ang and the kids have been after me for the past couple of years to get a pet. Before we moved into the house we're in now, we had a great Chow/Golden Retriever mix named Marino who was, in my humble opinion, the Best. Dog. Ever.
After we moved she ran away, which she'd never done before, and since then we've been pet-less. Unless you count Trot.
Naturally at first we talked about a dog. But with Angie's insistence it be an outdoor dog and the fact our neighborhood will only let you have a certain kind of fence combined with my insistence on hanging the Red Sox B on said fence which would violate said neighborhood ordinance, we moved on to cats.
It took approximately 3 minutes of discussion about cats to rule them out. Cats are high strung creatures of habit; 5 minutes with Rakes and Trot and the cat would need shock therapy and be on a lifetime supply of Prozac just to make it through each day.
So I somehow let Ang convince me to get the fish tank out of storage and tonight we spent 3 months salary on a heater, thermometer, some kind of drops that eliminate chlorine, and 2 months water bill to fill it up. Once we've reached 76 degrees, it's ready for some fish. Which is why after church tomorrow I'll be at the pet store buying, and I quote, "A Tiger Fish, one that looks like Dory, and this REALLY cute small one that is pink".
Which is all well and good. Fish are relatively low maintenance; feed 'em every other day, clean the tank once a month, and you should be good.
However, can you imagine what this lunatic is going to do when I tell him he can't take them out of the tank and carry them around the house?
We should NOT be okay with a broken leg
1 day ago