A baker’s dozen of koi at the Japanese Garden in Portland, Oregon.

“Good dog.” These days we pet any dog that comes near us on the beach. They all like to be told they are good dogs. Even the slightly dangerous ones, the ones that growl or charge, if they gave us a chance, would get a good rub on the occiput and be told they are good dogs.

Our aged goldfish died when we fed it tainted fishfood from China. You might not recall that scandal. That was years ago now. Our last cat and the dog are gone now and we have not had the heart to risk another, though for many years we had five or six sharing our home.

I went to a commercial website the other day, just to get my koi fix. Now their ads show up each day in my Facebook feed. I looked at goldfish too. I imagined refilling the enormous Chinese pot where we having kept goldfish in the past. Koi need running water so they have never been in the program. Still, I miss having fish. I miss having pets—no dog no cat in our house, cluttering up our furniture. No dog to swipe the slice of cheese off the table. No need to be careful of doors open or closed, food left out, getting home in time to walk the dog.

Why would we miss that?

Yet, we do.