On Saturday, somewhere between the rugby, a pub crawl and a house-warming, I managed to become the proud owner of a pair of goldfish. The previous owner has relocated to Morocco and was putting them up for adoption. I offered to take them in... and sent Mills to fetch them.
He returned with two buckets and a 20litre-capacity fish bowl. Bucket1 contained fish food, AquaSafe water cleaning stuff, filters, carbon, air tubes, other stuff that we still haven't figured out, and operation manuals - in Dutch of course. Bucket2 contained one and a half fish (fish2 was not looking healthy, he only just escaped a flushing by giving a last-minute wriggle). I quickly pointed out that the half-dead one could be Mills's. Shotgun the healthy dude.
Putting it all together was eventful... particularly trying to pick up the round glass bowl, after filling it with 20 litres of freshly-treated water. While we were cleaning the filter, we happily noticed that the half-a-fish was looking increasingly healthier. He's a fighter, he is.
Fish bowl. Check.
De-chlorinating water stuff. Check.
Fish. Check (x1,5... almost x2)
Of course, there is the all important matter of naming them. I wanted to call them Bag and Gel, because both words go with Douche. I was also in favour of Poen and Gwarrah, taking them back to their SA roots. But in the end, it was Mills who named them. While transferring the fish to their final location, he called them freaky-deaky. It stuck.
Meet Deaky. Freaky insists on hiding from the camera.
ps. Bring on the fat, ginger kid jokes... it's like destiny!