Pets

Pets, pets pets...

I already commented on some of these titles being somewhat far away from my native style and this is certainly one of them...what do I have to say about pets?  

I haven't had a pet for years.  We used to keep fish in the house, the first of which was a fair ground prize (I suppose some Great British traditions die hard, after all), none of which had particularly extended lifespans, and even before that (many hundreds of years ago) I used to keep a thriving colony of Indian Stick insects, whose defining feature as a species is being able to reproduce without a male and therefore snide you out with an almost infinite number of offspring.  One thing that they do not like, however, is the cold; a sad fact that ended the life of that particular colony one year.

Since moving to Littleover, however, we have had no terrestrial animals.  That's right.  Allow me to explain.  There is a pond (not a terribly deep one) in the ever-decreasing back garden, in which mother keeps her livestock, a small shoal of Koi!  We've been through I don't even remember how many generations of Koi now, and I remember coming home from Sixth Form (complete in my suit), on a warm summer's day, and immediately evacuating the pond of water, filth, and sadly, dead fish.  I also remember spying the still body of one fish to this very day, who had fallen asleep on top of a brick that we kept in the pond to stand a small fountain on, the last time it ever did.

Mum's luck with fish has thankfully increased, however, and we have the same pondful as before I started at Truro!  They have terribly pun-tastic names: Rick Astley, Spot, Flash and Tony Hadley.  Yes I had a hand in naming them AS IF YOU CAN'T TELL.  However, they are mother's, and not mine.  I too take responsibility for part of the pond life however and that is THE COLONY.  Every year, frogs visit the pond and use it as a breeding ground.  The resulting spawn hatches into thousands of tiny tadpoles, some of whom die;some of whom are eaten by the fish; some of whom are eaten by their fellows; and the remainder of whom grow into frogs and take their chances with the rest of the world.  One year the Colony was so numerous that we didn't see the fish for a fortnight: I joked that the tadpoles had eaten the fish.  My mother was less than amused... I always ask after the health of my beloved polliwogs though.

Since moving to Truro, in yet another shared lodging, I haven't had any animals.  I always travel with Wilbur, the black hardwood African Hippo, my taciturn chum that he is.  I'm not even sure what if anything I'd be able to keep, actually, as I have a notorious allergy to fur... I've been getting better as I've got older though, so fingers crossed y'all so I too can become a crazy cat man.  I seem to have relaxed into that very fashionably Cornish thing of liking dogs.  I've never really liked dogs, there's something about their prerogative for making a lot of noise, often in the comparatively small space of a room.  This aversion has been... partially reversed by my regular contact with an animal I genuinely describe as 'the World's Stupidest Dog', who belongs to Janet, one of my ancient Mother's friends from long, long ago... and also Slough.  Eurgh.

Sorry that was so boring.  I'm just at a point in my life where I don't have pets, you know.  They've never really been a big part of my life, which I suppose is sad on one level.  Anyway!  Tune in next time, same place, same channel.

That's all.  For now.