I thought it would be educational and teach her some responsibility. Little did I know, Jeff would soon claim Pearl's fish as his favorite pet. Why? Because he doesn't have to clean up poop, it doesn't make any noise, and no wet dog smell. And wouldn't you know it but Jeff has trained that dumb fish to swim right up to him in the same corner to eat. One pellet at a time as I've been told numerous times when caught feeding him wrong.
Meet Shark Bait, middle name Ooo Ha Ha.
I still think we should have called him Jaws in honor of "my" Betta in college. I say "my" loosely because Jaws was technically my grandparents' fish. When they left on their mission to Nauvoo and I moved into their house for 18 months, I inherited him. He was in this vase with a plant in it so it got really gross, really fast. My grandpa made me swear I'd keep that dumb fish alive until they got home. And when I'm given a challenge, I usually live up to it. That poor fish barely hung on until they got home. It probably didn't help that I avoided cleaning his tank or that he narrowly missed a horrible death down the sink's disposal {I made Jeff grab him because his flopping around always crept me out}. But I kept him alive. And the day my Grandpa came home and I proudly showed him I'd kept Jaws alive, he laughed and said, "Girl, I wanted you to kill him! I hate that fish!"
Maybe Shark Bait is a better name after all.
