I have a fish named Job. When my sister got married in August of 2007 her centrepieces were Japenese Fighting Fish. After the reception they told people they could keep the fish. I've always been against having fish because I think it's ridiculous to hold something that's used to an entire lake or ocean in a little tiny plastic tank with artificial plants and shiny rocks. I've always been against it. But when my brother in law told me (to this day I still don't know if it's a lie) that these Japenese Fighting Fish actually like small places and die if they are in wide open areas, Job caught my attention. Afterall, where else would he go? And not only is he a mere Japenese Fighting Fish, but he's a champion. People took these fish and put them in tanks together to watch them kill each other. Seriously, people haven't changed since the Roman times. Give them food and games. So in the form of brutal fish-fighting entertainment, my Job won out. He was found in a hotel room and a cleaning lady walked by with him in a little bag and told his story. I was Job's rescuee. Ever since that day, I've loved Job. You may think it ridiculous, obsurd, or impossible to have actual love for a fish, but I think I actually do. I brought him five hours with me to Regina where I attended Western for my last year. And he lives on in his little tank with a skull in it. An artificial plant. Non-shiny rocks. And every morning he swims around furociously waiting to be fed. When I leave on trips I worry about him. I've dreamed about him. And I've thought about him dying and what I'll do and how I'll react. Where my two lizard friends failed me and died after all my efforts (I'll never get another one I'm too scared now) Job swims on. This may be the lamest blog post of all time, but I just wanted to dedicate something to my Job. I hope he never dies.