On a fantastically sunny, calm summer evening, with a crackling fire burning cheerfully and the beloved warmth of family all around, which is the more virtuous path:
• Should one risk the accidental spillage of a cold, hoppy, well-deserved beer by placing it precariously in the grass?
• Or should one reach over to the pet graveyard tree and metaphorically invite a fallen friend to join in the revelry?
Molly was thoroughly offended. ("That's Rainbow's tombstone!") But I'm not sure she understands that this was a good beer. (I want to say Fat Tire, but it looks a little dark. Let's just say not PBR.)
Plus, I think I knew Rainbow pretty well. He and I shared more than a few laughs while I'd give him fresh water and scrub out his little glass fishbowl. That was a fish who liked to unwind and who appreciated the value of a refreshing drink now and again. Not like that uptight jerk, Mr. Wiggles. Boy, did that guy have a stick up his gill.