Brody was abandoned and has been adopted by some of the people I work with. He's a betta, or Siamese fighting fish, specifically what is known as an orange dalmatian. I don't know about any of that stuff except for the fighting part because Brody thinks he's a bad ass. When I get close to his tank and look inside, he comes over to the glass, gets all puffed up and stares right back at me, like he wants to beat the shit out of me. He's got a lot of nerve, when you consider he's the size of a ketchup packet and I wield the power of a god over him; I could unleash Armageddon on his little universe by simply dropping an Alka-Seltzer tablet in there. I would never do that, though, even if I didn't respect, and kind of admire, his defiance, which I do. You go, little man. Stand up to anybody who threatens you, your two plastic plants and your colored pebbles and I'll keep doing my part to make sure you get fed every day and fresh, clean water once a week. You cocky little bastard.
No comments:
Post a Comment