Crazy Pet Follies

        In a way, living on campus is kind of strange.  I mean, most of us have lived at home for 18 years and now we finally get our first taste of freedom.  Not so fast there freshmen!  We’re not yet that  independent.  There is a very long list of rules we have to follow.  We are being guided through our independence with the very strict set of rules about how we can’t burn candles in our room and how we can’t have any pet besides a fish.  I suppose the few losers out there reading this might say that they can get away with their “pet rock”, but let’s ignore them like we always have.  I’m sorry to you losers out there, but if you were offended by that, then you have proven yourself to be an even bigger loser.  Anyway, back to the pet thing.  I would have to agree with that standard. 
        When I was 11, my parents allowed me to get my first, very own pet, so that it could teach me responsibility.  I won a few goldfish at the county fair and my parents let me put them in a spare goldfish bowl we just happened to have.  I’m not sure why we had the bowl, we had never had fish before.  Four of the five never made it through the night.  I could tell the last one was a strong one.  He had sort of an evil gaze in his eye that seemed to say, “I am not your average goldfish.”  I fed him regularly the next few weeks and he was doing very well until I moved my room.  I moved all of my furniture into what used to be the guest room, all, that is, except for the goldfish bowl I left behind the door and forgot about.  Thirty to forty days later, I found the fish behind the door. 
        Despite the angry look he gave me he was fine.  I figured after fasting for that long, he would appreciate a few fish flakes, so, I gave him some.  As soon as he nibbled the first one, he keeled over and died right there in front of me.  It was very traumatic and it wouldn’t be the last time it would happen.  A few years later, I got two anoles (small lizards) which I had to feed with crickets.  Paper-cut and Papaya (the names I gave them) were very happy until Papaya started eating all of the crickets and not leaving Paper-cut any.  Paper-cut starved to death, followed a few days later by Papaya who was eaten by the small army the crickets had organized.  A year later, I got a hamster which I named Stop Sign.  He lived in practical solitary confinement for nearly six months.  One morning, I went up for his routine cage cleaning to find him running happily on his wheel, so I decided to let him have fun and just clean it later.  I went back up a few hours later to find him upside down, covered in his own urine, lying beside only what I can describe as “a greenish yellow pasty substance”.  Needless to say, I threw him out.  Another year later, I got one of those tiny turtles.  He lived for a little over a year.  One day I saw him kind of wedged between the side of the tank and this big rock and I noticed that his water was low.  I filled it up and a few hours later I saw him in the same position, completely submerged. I forgot to un-wedge him and he drowned.
        Alright, fine, I may have seen my fair share of pet deaths, but at least my pet rock is still going strong.