These shorter days are wreaking havoc on my schedule. Apparently, my body only likes to wake up when it’s light out. It rebels against these dark mornings. This is problematic because if I can’t get up in the dark, I can’t walk or write my chicken stories. There’s not enough time. And do you know what happens when I can’t write my chicken stories?
Blue Blog. Yes, it’s a thing.* The whole blog takes on a bluish cast and things could explode any second. It almost happened the summer of 2013, but I started blogging again and saved the internet.
Does anyone know a good fish whisperer? I think littleb’s fish might have some psychological issues. This is what happened: I cleaned their fish house the other day and then returned them from their vacation condo in the pantry to their clean bowl in the kitchen via the Red line, which is sort of like a subway system only with nets instead of trains.
They should have been quite chipper after an hour of peace, tranquility, and an excellent view of our driveway, but something seemed off. I think I messed up. You see, I only put one of their plastic sea grass plants back in their bowl. It seemed crowded with two sea plants. Plus, one of the sea plants is sort of stiff and spiky. It doesn’t sway and flow with the water current the way real sea grass would. It’s so spiky that I worried I might wake up to fish-ka-bob one of these mornings. In an effort to not traumatize the fish over the missing plant, I left the spiky sea grass outside their bowl where they could still see it. This blew their little minds.
Later, I noticed they were hovering by the glass and bumping their heads against the bowl as they tried to make their way to the spiky grass. “Aw, they’re confused.”, I thought. So I put the sea grass back in the bowl. Pretty soon they were on the other side of the bowl avoiding the sea grass. “What the hell, fish?”, I thought, “Do you want the grass, do you not want the grass?”. They didn’t answer, so I took the grass out again. I just really think the bowl looks more aesthetically pleasing without the sea grass so I made an executive decision. I hold the executive chair of the board of all the fish in this house. It’s one of my many titles (Tzar of the medicine cabinet, Grand high finder of lost things, etc).
Well, It wasn’t long before the fish were back to the head banging as they tried to work out the Houdini-like moves of the fish-impaling plant. I put it back in. They swam to the other side of the bowl in a panic. I went to bed. Today I’m going to call a fish whisperer.
* It is not a thing