Murray

First of all, may I say just how difficult it is to take a photo of a fish in a tank. Glass, reflected light, moving fish and so on. Excuses, excuses, I know. Please meet Murray the Murray Cod. Murray the Cod please meet the reader. Pets. The recent fires in Victoria have produced many happy and sad stories about people losing or being reunited with their pets. Some months ago I ran into an old friend while we were respectively pounding the pavement in our suburb in search of that elusive goal - the svelte figure. My faithful hound Jessie always accompanies me in this pursuit. She too would like a more svelte figure. Though I suspect now what she would like is much less arthritis. As I blabbed on I finally noticed that my friend was keeping a careful distance from my faithful companion. As we exchanged pleasantries and moved on I pondered that my human friend seemed rather cautious, nay, lets be honest, rather fearful of said hound. My heart went out to her. Up til now I had thought her distaste for creatures was about pride in housekeeping. A distaste for furniture that is impregnated with essence de dog - not to mention hair de dog. And I completely sympathise. Oh for a malodouress (sp?) free home. A home free of having to clean up after animals. I spend my life wrapping up guinea pig poo, cleaning fish filters, removing crap from the bottom of bird cages, picking up dog excrement under the clothes line etc etc etc. But may I say, I would never trade all of that for the looks that Jessie gives me from her possie on the sofa. Her understanding eyes and deepest sympathy when the going gets tough and all the world's awry. When I am at my lowest point, she appears by my side unbeckoned, nudging me with her nose gently. And I'm a cat person !!! And what about the fish? What comfort does he give me? Well he reminds me that some of us swim. Some of us are in a water world where things glide gently. Where things bubble. Tweetie the bird makes washing up and preparing lunches and breakfast in the morning a delight. She warbles away with the running water and does fair impressions of bellbirds in the next valley and if she's particularly desperate whistles one of my inane tunes to get my attention. If she's really lucky she'll score a bit of the guinea pigs' lettuce. I see the gentlest side of my husband as he hunts for a thistle in our backyard for her and presents it to her like a bouquet. Opening the fridge door would not be half as much fun if it wasn't accompanied by insistent squeals from my furry friends in guinea pig tenements out on the back verandah - what about the workers they cry? We mow your lawn! Carrots for guinea pigs!! Animals ground me. They remind me that there's a whole world out there far more important than my trivial worries and strife. In the words of that poet whose name I've forgotten - is it Gerard Manly Hopkins - I lift up my voice metaphorically to sing = All things bright and beautiful. All creatures great and small. All things wise and wonderful....the Good Lord made them all....or something to that effect.