triple tiny tragedy (reconstructed)

fafa the fish died yet again. now that coco is three-and-a-half, i believe she could handle the truth and learn an important life lesson. after all, i was about the same age when my pet turtle died, one of those little ones that are smaller than a soap bar, and we buried it the pot of a huge interior plant (we lived in an apartment at the time). that prepared me somewhat for the subsequent deaths of future pets: michael jackson, janet jackson and madonna the fish (mildly tragic), natasha the poodle (somewhat tragic), zico the airdale terrier (terribly tragic), uma the great dane (heartbreakingly tragic), coco lee the poodle (untragic, due to old age) and now, the fafas (slightly tragic).

the point is we would have told her, had it not been for the sudden absence of her preschool class pet guinea pigs, tom and jerry. once the pride and joy of room 1, they eventually became a burden for the teacher, who grew tired of carrying their big cage to and from her house on weekends (and, i have now learned, was unable to care for them during the summer). i thought this issue had been resolved by a weekend custody calendar she started for the furry fellas. so imagine my surprise when i saw item #371 on the school's fundraising silent auction catalogue: adopt tom and jerry guinea pigs, starting bid $20, value priceless.

when she asked me about it, i explained to the curious coconut that they had found a better home. why? weren't they happy in room 1, where pudgy little fingers would lovingly pet (i.e. push, pull & poke) and feed (i.e. shove pieces of fruit and veggies down their throats) them? yes, WHY? why were they taken away with only a few weeks left until summer vacation?

this changed coco's entire preschool ecology and we weren't about to do the same at home. so we welcome fafa number three, a smaller and shyer version of fafa number two, and hopefully healthier than fafa number one.

pink medicine

my little motoneta has an ear infection, her second this year, and has to take a pink medicine that looks like pepto bismol, but reminds me of kenny. kenny is our dog, a beagle originally from the mojave desert, but currently exiled in mexico.

this dog is the most stubborn being i have ever encountered. i sometimes call him dogini because of his amazing talent as an escape artist. during his first with us, gates had to be extended upwards, walls had to grow, complicated latches had to be installed, and still he managed to escape, until we realized he could not be contained and gave up. and, of course, once the challenge was gone, he stopped escaping.

one time, kenny got sick, so we took him to the vet. apparently, he had a shocking number of uncommon parasites and bacteria (consistent with his behavior in the backyard) in his system and had to take some pink tablets. we stuck one in a hot dog, just like the vet suggested, and kenny devoured the whole thing. then he simply spit the tablet out. you can't trick a trickster, now can you? so, we forced his snout open, shoved the damn thing in his mouth and flushed it down his throat with water. to our amazement and horror, he regurgitated the tablet.

back to the vet's office we went with the dog and the tablets, begging for professional help. he gave us a condescending sneer as he snapped his latex gloves on. ignoring our warning, he brought out a slice of ham, wrapped it around a tablet and attempted the he'll-wolf-the-whole-thing-down method. the triumphant look on his face turned into disbelief as he watched dogini's regurgitating act. he had never seen anything quite like it. yes, he should be in a circus, i thought.

kenny was sitting on the cold metallic table, looking droopy as ever, as the vet calmly began the shove-it-down-his-throat procedure. the vet was firmly holding the dog's snout shut and was explaining how simple this was when done correctly, when his patient started to shake his head violently, spewing pink liquid all over the place, soiling his impeccable white coat and spraying his eyeglasses.

panzón and i couldn't help but laugh as the vet wiped his glasses with a tissue and suggested another, less messy, type of treatment: shots.