It’s been a long journey of deaths and explaining why we flush dead fish down the toilet and then stopping them from trying to flush live fish down the toilet, but finally, finally we are here.
The children had a fish bowl and a fishy friend each for Christmas, but the black hand of doom has hovered over them since that day and we have watched as one after the other (along with the replacements brought in) have all ended up floating on the surface of the water.
Seriously, isn’t keeping a goldfish supposed to be the easy option for a pet? Isn’t it supposed to ease them gently into the whole death thing?
Mia: “Mummy, when this fish dies can I flush the toilet?”
Dan: “No it’s my turn, I want to do it.”
Mia: “Well I’m going to watch it every day to see when it floats.”
‘When’, she says. Not ‘if’. Sheesh.
Cue half an hour of squabbles and the poor fish has only just been added to the bowl.
And to think my mum wanted to buy them a rabbit . . .