I knew a woman whose ears would shrink in the snow.
"All the dogs turn small and white on Valentine's," she'd say as she dropped them lightly into the tank. "And all their leashes turn to ribbon."
For six days the ears would sink, and on the seventh they grew like seamonkeys. They were surrounded.
"Ah," mused the grisly catfish, spitting gravel from his mouth. "There's a rooster in the henhouse."
