Jun Dishes

verb/diSH/ : food or sex or gossip or fiction in real life

It’s Not a Guppy! It’s a Fry!

I was wrong!

Our little black baby guppy is not a guppy at all, but a molly!

A baby molly is called a fry. A fry!

You can see how much our little black fry has grown since a week ago…

Rambo

We’ve named it Rambo because it’s all gangster swimming with the rest of the big fish.

I don’t know what it is with us and Sylvester Stallone, I don’t. We once had a rabbit and we’d named it Rocky. These names just happened.

I think many of you were around when my husband brought little Rocky home. Davy found Rocky on the docks at work one May day in 2011, drenched in seawater and about to be crushed by a forklift of something, and voila I had a new pet bunny.

We thought she was a boy at first so we named her Rocky. It turned out she was a girl and we still loved the name for her anyway. She was a survivor and she made it on the docks long enough to find a home with us, is what Davy said. That was our story when anyone asked about Rocky. Our story changed on November 15, 2012. I remember the date because it was the day before Davy and Noah and I were leaving for Thanksgiving in New York

Rocky had been sluggish all day that day. She finally slumped over at some point that evening. Davy and I had been packing last-minute things for our trip when Davy noticed Rocky just laying there on her side taking shallow breaths.

Davy ran her over to our vet and he returned without her. Rocky had to be put to sleep. It turned out she had tumors in her belly. She’d probably had them since birth and they only got bigger with time and there was nothing we could have done for her, had said our veterinarian.

I was shocked. I’d been naive. I’d never thought about Rocky dying.

Immediately, I was nervous about flying the next day, thinking Rocky’s death was an omen of sorts. I thought maybe we should change our flight. Davy said I’d watched too many movies and Rocky’s death wasn’t a sign of anything but the cycle of life.

We got all philosophical about our rabbit.

Rocky

Davy was so sad about Rocky but he didn’t show it. He said we’d given Rocky a better life than she ever could have had on the docks and all of a sudden Rocky was just a memory. So we went off to New York and our flight was nearly perfect and eight-month-old Noah was a doll for all eight hours between Brussels and JFK.

Thanksgiving with my friends and family was on the agenda…

~

I never blogged about Rocky’s exit until now because I didn’t know how to. I guess I have Rambo and friends to thank for that. It’s really nice seeing Davy caring for Rambo and all the other fish. I know he missed having a pet.

Noah never really knew Rocky but he does look out for Rambo when he’s helping Davy feed the “fishies!”

Always dishing,

Jun

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