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“Yeah, why isn’t he helping out?” Otis joined in, placing each fork on the table with a heavy thump.
“He’s out with Cheeto. Horses need a lot of work.” Poppy continued chopping salad, keeping a close watch on the ears of corn boiling on the stove. So far, the smoke was minimal.
“Mom won’t let us have a pet,” Otis said.
“Because you killed the fish,” Dot explained.
“What happened?” Poppy turned, grabbing the chance to engage with her niece and nephew.
“We each picked out a betta fish. Mine was all pretty and pink and red,” Dot said, folding napkins. “His was boy colored.”
“I didn’t know they wouldn’t get along,” Otis protested. “Who knew fish could do that?”
“That’s why they come in separate cups, Otis. They need their own personal space.” Dot shook her head. “His fish killed my fish and then he was so freaked out he gave his away.”
“Oh.” Poppy frowned. “Poor little fish.”
“And that’s why we can’t have a pet.” Dot shook her head. “It’s your fault, so stop whining about it.”
And just like that, Otis snapped. “Shut up, Dot! I’m sick of you being so bossy.”
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