Fish Are Food, Not Friends

In todays world if I were to tell the public about every experience with animals I had growing up on the farm, my family would probably be apprehended and locked away, or at the very least shunned by the general population. Since we were raised on a farm we have quite a different perspective of animals than most people do. We're always respectful to life, but sometimes things just happen, you know? Like that one time as the weather was finally heating up we found 3 dead chickens in the swamp cooler. Or when we came home from church to find that someone had left the front door open and a bunch of chickens were kicking back on our couches watching the sports channel. Or that other time with Haylee and the frog and the door... yikes. Or that other time when we never solved the mystery of the missing goldfish. My mom found the 2-year old on the counter by the previously occupied tank, but never found the fish. Then there was the time when Sara had that accident with an entire family of ducks, or the new driver Savannah with the dog, or Daniel with the goat. Then those countless times with the homeless baby chicks in a box, the tadpoles in a cup, and the ants and spiders in a mason jar. Then that one time with Mom and the gopher and the hose, and mom and the scorpion, and Mom and the lizard, and Mom and the hyper little dog named Rascal. Then Jared and the hamsters, Sondra and that nasty millipede from South Africa and Tyler and the dove... yech. The more I think about it, the more I realize why I'm not fond of the idea to keep animals as pets. Let them be. They're safer without human interaction. At least from my family, anyway.

Obviously, animals all have a purpose and a place in life. Sometimes their place is to torment me like those pesky mosquitos, flies and goldfish. (Remember when Sondra got her hair all caught up in that insect-covered fly trap?) Sometimes their place is for the use of man. Cows serve a couple different functions. We did have that one cow, Betsy that gave us literally everything she had to offer. 17 years of milk and 17 year-old meat. Chickens are some of the dumbest animals I have ever interacted with, but I do appreciate their product. One time it was harvesting time for the chickens (if you know what I mean) and I was assigned the task of catching them all at dusk and putting them in the chicken coop to be ready for easy catching in the morning. (One time we had a headless rooster that literally kicked a bucket, then died). I caught almost all of them, but there was this one hen who kept jumping up on a small haystack to settle in for the night. I kept trying to corner her but she always jumped up and ran over the top of the stack before I could catch her. Then I'd back off a bit and within minutes she was right back on the same haystack and we'd do our little dance all over again. I must have tried 25 times to catch her. I don't know who was dumber, me or the chicken.

Pigs are strictly for eating, but I suppose I have had a precious little moment with a pig before. It's how I earned my nickname "Fern". I must have been 15 or so when a sow had just finished birthing a litter of pigs. There must have been 8 or 9 of them. It was in the middle of the winter and there was this one little runt that we didn't expect to live because the other little piglets kept pushing it out into the cold and it wasn't big enough to push its way back in. So I decided to take it upon myself to take that little pig in. It was about the size of a tennis shoe, and wiggly as a bored toddler. I guess he was kinda cute, but being not much of an animal person it was hard to let go of my pride to admit it. I washed him and gave him a box to sleep in for the night in my room and made him as comfortable as I could with plenty of towels to cuddle up to, but Wilbur wouldn't have it. He squealed and squealed all night long until I couldn't take it anymore. I finally wrapped him in a towel and let him cuddle up to me in my bed. It worked. The night became peaceful and quiet. I suppose the little girl in me was satisfied and I felt somewhat validated because the little guy loved me like his mother. I ended up keeping him for a couple of weeks I think before we plumped him up enough to get him back outside again. But he did live, and I suppose I was happy about it.

 I haven't figured out the purpose of keeping ducks or geese yet, but we have them. Some of those geese are mean little suckers. I was always afraid of gathering the eggs when we had geese because I was afraid one of them might attack me. I had been chased plenty of times before and seen enough battle wounds on my brothers and nephews to know not to mess with them. We have turkeys too, one we named "Obama". I've never heard of a rogue turkey but because they were similar in size and I'd had enough scares with the geese, I always grouped them in the same "animals to avoid" category. Especially since they're so scary looking.

If I were forced for whatever reason to have any kind of pet, you might could pay me to have a beta fish. They're relatively easy to maintain and they don't make noise, leave their DNA on the couches or leave the premises where they can get snatched up by a predator or animal control. Goldfish, on the other hand, are way too high maintenance, are annoyingly orange, and die if you so much as look at them funny. Last summer my roommate/best cousin Shawna "won" a goldfish from the carnival. She very proudly brought it home and put it in a bowl and there Warrior has lived like a champion up until three days ago. When I heard the news of his death I was a little less than sad; I sipped the rest of my Jamba and skipped merrily on my way. A few days later I was driving myself and my hilarious niece Anna home from Institute. Naturally, the subject turned to goldfish and I proceeded to tell her that if anyone asked me if we could have another goldfish I would tell them no. She thought it was unusually hilarious. When we got home, she collapsed into a giggling fit in the entry way and I couldn't figure out why. Only to turn around to see this:

NOOOOOO!!! What a dirty trick. Yep, that's 50 of them, folks. 50 slimy little replacements for Warrior. These are the culprits of this sick little joke:

Anna, Emily, Abby. How could you do this to me? You know my disdain for goldfish. I just feel bad for those little fishies because when Shawna cleans the bowl she's going to have to use a strainer to get them all out. I'll probably just save her the hassle and sneak them off to that nice little Koi pond at a nearby Sushi restaurant when no one is looking.

A Few Familial Facts

As I mentioned, I come from a family of 16 children. All are whole, from the same mom and dad, and yes, there are two sets of twins (back to back, might I add). That little fact seems to make people feel better about the whole situation. Because of the very rare and interesting dynamics of my family, all 16 of us have developed very peculiar views of the familial world in which we live. For example, I have been a great aunt since I was 18 (well, I've always been a GREAT aunt, but you know what I mean). My oldest niece Nichole is 3 years older than I and now has 4 children. Last I checked (which was a month or two ago) I had 75 nieces and nephews. For all I know by now I might have 76 or even 78. I couldn't tell you which of my Sisters or Sisters-in-law are pregnant and certainly not how pregnant they are. Of the 400 people that are descended from or married into my grandparents family of 11 children, my father's family alone comprises 110 of them. Upon learning of the massive dynamics of my family I was once asked by a recent acquaintance to list all the names of my nieces and nephews. I did so, and in the list there were at least 3 Joseph's, 2 Michael's, 2 Hannah's and probably a few more duplicates. I had some trouble remembering the name of a few of those more recently born. My oldest Sister is creeping up on 50, and my younger brother coming up on 21. My mother was 47 when the last was born and my father 57. My dad in two short years will reach the ripe old age of 80. My 3 nieces who are older than I played the role of cousins during my childhood years, and those younger than I but still close in age now serve the function as close friends and roommates. It was as if I were being raised by my grandparents because of my parent's age, but I have come to really appreciate it. My parents were seasoned child-raising veterans and I never felt either neglected nor smothered, and they always knew how to explain to me why I should behave a certain way. When I understood that it was right, it was never hard for me to behave well.

I have often been asked "Do you feel close to all your siblings?" The answer is yes, but I think my definition of "close" is very different from that of the member of a regular-sized family. I don't have the memory span each week or even month to call each of my siblings up and have a chat about what's going on in their lives. I don't always remember everyone's birthday, but when I do they at least get a nice text or facebook message. I usually find out about births, moving or buying a house or other significant goings-on in the family through the grapevine or on facebook. This sort of relationship with my siblings would not be considered "close" in the eyes of many, but that isn't what defines it for me. We all love each other because we learned how to work hard together. Because there are so many of us with so many different personalities we had to learn early how to adjust our own behavior to please my contention-sensitive mother. We learned that it was much a more pleasant feeling to be happy than to be irritated or upset, so we learned how to not let the fickle things others did bother us. Because we grew up under the same roof, we can all expect to be held by the same standard of excellence, educationally as well as spiritually. Laziness has never been a part of my family culture.

For the most part my siblings have very much to do with the decisions I make from day to day. I can't say we were all raised by the same parents because my mother 40 years ago is a very different person from my mother now, but the fundamentals are still the same. My mother and father have always built the foundation of our family on the rock of Jesus Christ, and we all adhere to that. I am expected by all of my siblings -- especially my Sisters -- to toe the line when it comes to how I behave, who I date, where I go, and what I do with my life. Because of the incredible examples they have been and where they have taken their lives, I have some pretty big shoes to fill.

My parents have been incredibly successful in raising this family. We certainly are not without our problems but just to illustrate, two Septembers ago my parents sent out my little brother, the 15th full time missionary to serve from my immediate family. When he went through the Temple to receive his endowments, my mother's lifelong dream came true of having all 16 of her children attend the same Temple session. Not only are all still active and Temple-worthy, but all (if applicable) have married exceptionally well and all are educated, successful and are giving back to the communities in which they reside.

When we all get together to talk about it, we always attribute it to my parent's unwavering faith and unfailing devotion to teach us the Gospel. During my grade-school years, I could expect to be woken up at 6:30 in the morning, right after my Mom would get home from her early morning run. While we were getting ready for school my mom would go in the kitchen and prepare breakfast for us. While we were eating breakfast she would use that time to teach us from the scriptures, particularly the Book of Mormon. We would then pray together and she would send us on our merry way to school. She tells us that there were mornings when she didn't want to get up, but on one particular morning she heard a voice loud in her ear say "if you don't get up and teach your children the scriptures, you will lose one or more." This was enough motivation to get her moving, and we scarcely missed a morning study session.

I don't know what I did in the pre-mortal life to deserve the family I was born into, but I couldn't be more grateful for my life now. "Everything I am or hope to be, I owe to my Angel mother." - Abraham Lincoln

To read an article about my family in the Deseret News, click here!: http://www.deseretnews.com/article/705374512/Hurricane-Utah-family-sends-out-more-than-a-dozen-missionaries.html