Little Debbie died. Hostess is still hanging on. What? You don’t name your fish after snack cakes?
My oldest came down the stairs with her limp fish, visibly upset about her beloved pet. We hugged her and said our “I’m sorry’s” and quickly changed the remaining fish’s water just to omit any further owner-error. My daughter bounced back quickly. Because in her words, “It’s a fish.”
But later that same night we heard a shriek and this same daughter discovered her hamster had gone to Heaven. Tears. This was obviously a bigger deal and I sent my bewildered husband into the garage to seek out a hamster-sized casket. A definite first for this family.
We said a few words and buried the business card box in the yard.
I tried to soothe my oldest and said “What would make you feel better?” <——–thinking a snack cake and praying to God she didn’t say another hamster. She said, “there’s only one thing I can think of that would take away my pain…………Can I have a cell phone?”
I patted her on the back and said No. (After I laughed hysterically). Yep, that girl will be fine.
The next morning before school my son came downstairs, lip trembling.
Yep, same story, last hamster.
My son was relieved because in his words, “Rodents are a lot of work. Now my room will smell good again.” Which is debatable considering his athletic shoes.
I’m not sure what caused all the pet deaths, but I might have caught my dog and cat googling the Pet Apocalypse.
This sort of narrows down the list of people wanting us to pet sit for them.
We’re choosing to laugh around here.
