Yesterday we found that my sister's Christmas gift, Bugzie the Fish, was no more. I personally think this might be karma getting Andrea for trying to "pet" my fish five years ago which inadvertently led to the fish being dropped on the floor. Not bitter though.
My family has an abnormally high number of horrible pet death stories. My parents kept buying them for us for some reason. My dad must have had a "buy 20 get one free" punch card or something. One would think that a family with five girls would have nothing but sweet pet stories about hamsters, fish, and kittens, but no. We have death by swimming pool, death by roller blade, self-inflicted death, death by marshmallow, death by rat poison, death by small children that were staying at our house, the list goes on.
A classic family home video with our first ever "pet."
Many thanks to my mother for translating Michelle's speech impediments.
I don't think Lucy realizes how lucky she is. We have had her for a successful seven years. The other day, I gave her the benefit of the doubt and let her off her leash. She ended up running into a fortunately not-so-busy street. This caused me to make a ridiculous dash after her while formulating in my head what my family would do if I left the house with a dog that was just excited for a car ride and returned with a less-than-lively lucy lump. Luckily, she was fine. I was fine. It was fine.
We Stolworthys love our pets and I think that might be part of the problem. We love them too hard and it kills them.