There’s no roundabout way to say this. When I got home from my visit to the aquarium today, I found an elver in my pocket. I put my hand in there and with a jolt, I felt the slimy thing squirming around. I was aghast, as well as flummoxed. I had seen lots of baby animals: wigglers, cygnets, spats, peachicks, and even a holluschick. But I didn’t remember any elvers!
Now I know diddly-squat about eels and their offspring—zilch. Egad, what if I killed the little guy? I went online and learned that most elvers live in salty water, so I got out our big soup pot. I started with a trickle of water, then more, and added salt, hoping I had the right salinity. I was relieved when he started to swim around. Then my mom came home, and you can imagine the brouhaha. Before it could escalate further, I sputtered out an explanation. It sounded ludicrous, but it was true!
After that turbulent moment, my mom, in her indubitable wisdom, put the kibosh on my worries and told me to call the aquarium. I wavered a bit because I thought I might get into a colossal amount of trouble. I was nervous that all my apologies would be for naught, and I would have bubkes to show for my efforts. Nevertheless, my explanation satisfied the affable director. She said I should bring back the elver without dillydallying. And I did, with a bit of swagger. After all, I had managed to keep the little fellow alive!
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