My roommate's future pet is called Bilirubin. Or, no. Bili Rubin. Maybe even Bili Reuben or Billi Reuben. It will probably be a dog, because only dogs seem to deserve 2 names. I tried to convince her that she should adopt my Dad's hawk as her future pet. She told me I've been reading too much Harry Potter.
My Dad's hawk died the next day. His theory was the "poor bastard" (literally) hadn't eaten in weeks and that the deer meat he had been feeding it gave it just enough strength to die. This was an interesting theory. One that as a nursing student I would like to explore further. Just enough strength to die. If I was a romance novelist, I would have made it the title of my debut novel.
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