FishStory

Sailor here. Yesterday Mom, Zoe and I went trekking downtown to the store with all the screechy birds, dark bubbling tanks and bags and bags of dog food. I love this store because the owners exclaim over my great beauty and give me cookies. Zoe loves this store because she always manages to run amok, often snatching dog biscuits from the open bin that is jaw height. Mom says that putting the biscuit bin in this particular location is like putting the Fruit Loops on the bottom shelf on the cereal aisle in the grocery store, at kid height. I tend to agree with the premise but not with the opinion that accompanies it.

Zoe and I behaved ourselves very well, all things considered, one of us better than the other. Zoe would love to eat the birds but Mom is careful to keep her in check. I am not fond of the dark room in the back; it�s kind of scary and too easy to trip over funny things on the floor. I love the bird room, however, because when I appear, all the finches start yelling and hopping back and forth in greeting. The cockatiel perks up and does interesting things with the top of his head. The parakeets watch me with one eye at a time and run back and forth on their perches like the carriage return of an exceptionally fast typist.

I was having a grand time sniffing the herbal scents wafting from the bird room and rubbing myself up against the wall when I heard this loud CRASH from the dark bubbling room. Expletives were deleted as a flash flood whooshed towards me. The deluge was peculiar in that it not only rolled in waves across the floor but flopped and wiggled as well. I had never seen floppy water in my life, and, I admit, I neglected my guard duties temporarily to watch this unusual site.

Mom and Zoe were backed into a corner and helpless to escape the inundation. When I finally pulled myself together, I jumped into the raging torrent, bent on rescue. I stopped short as I noticed that Zoe had begun a strange dance. She bobbed her head, hunched her shoulders, pounced her body, snapped her jaws and gulped. She did this again and again and again, impervious to all Mom�s leash pops. I was nonplussed. Mom was horrified. Zoe was smiling with delight. The storeowner started to chuckle while his wife wrung her hands. The cashier ran for the mop and a bucket.

What just happened? Zoe said, between bites, that it was in her arctic heritage to eat whole fish and that, furthermore, one of the snack foods on the Iditarod trail was, indeed, fish. She further stated that she was an easy keeper and would not need as much dinner tonight since she had fulfilled her genetic imperative and caught her own supper. I pointed out that she had not caught anything, her supper had bounced toward her all on its own accord

Having finally gotten control of Zoe, Mom took a deep breath, waded ashore and slunk to the front of the shop where she promptly offered to pay for Zoe�s repast. To the storeowner, I heard her saying things like, �Grommies? Maybe. Tetras � definitely. No, no angel fish. Goldfish? Too many to count.�

Ringing sounds ensued: chinga, chinga, chinga. Mom, with Zoe tightly in hand, opened her purse.

�What? How much?� Mom�s amazed voice carried across the length of the dog food aisle.

With a sigh and a baleful glance at Zoe, she opened her checkbook and started to write.

�How much is that going to be?� I asked Mom hesitantly.

She showed me the figure. I gasped.

�Is that in dog money?� I queried hopefully.

�Sailor,� Mom said, quickly multiplying by seven, �In dog money, the total would be $332.50.�

Mom caught me as I collapsed against her. She held me upright, wrapped Zoe�s leash around her wrist, refused a receipt, and headed for the door. Mom is a stronger person than I had ever given her credit for. Zoe belched politely and trotted off, very proud of herself.

Sailor who would NEVER hunt for his supper and Zoe, who would and obviously did