Oh, THAT kind of fish…

“Why is there a dog in that window, Mary?”

I hadn’t been aware of any dogs in windows in my kitchen, so I am unable to answer until I turn to see what Noah’s looking at. What he’s looking at is the 15-kg bag of dog food in the corner by the fridge. I’ve never noticed before, but the smiling Irish setter on the side of the large bag is indeed framed in a rustic wooden window.

“I wonder if you could figure that out, Noah? Whose food is in that bag?”

“The doggie’s.”

“Right! And so there’s a picture of a…”

“Doggie! On the bag!”

Got it in one. Bright boy.

“We have a fish, Mary.”

“You do?” I am used to these sudden segues. Besides, I think I see the link here. After months of diligent campaigning for a DOG, Noah’s super-sweet, super-lovely, super-neat-and-tidy parents have probably caved. To the extent of a fish. In a bowl.

“Where did you get your fish?”

“From the fish store.”

Well, that makes a certain amount of sense.

“And did you get a bowl there, too?”

“No. We didn’t use a bowl.”

“So are you putting it in an aquarium, a big, square glass box?” Noah gives me The Look. You know, the blank stare toddlers have perfected for those moments when adults are being completely, totally, inexplicably STOOOO-PID.

“No, we put in on a plate.”