As I was walking through the hall of a huge house owned by my father, I looked through the windows of some of the doors which I was passing. One room seemed to contain a pond surrounded by grass, shrubs and trees – an outdoor scene – inside. The pond's water was crystal clear, and swimming in the pellucid water glided perhaps a dozen bluegills. Unfortunately, someone was standing on the bank, fishing in the water, trying to catch the little fish. At first I thought the fellow was one of my sister's sons; but then I realized he was my sister's ex-husband, James. He caught a fish even while I was watching – clearly he would soon deplete the pond.

I walked on through the hall for a while, and when I returned to the door where the pond was, I again looked for the fish – only one remained. A fishing line was in the water, and someone – whom I couldn't see – was pulling a fishing line through the water, loaded with bait, which the little bluegill was following. The bluegill finally grabbed the bait, and suddenly, James, with his fishing rod in hand, rose from the water (he had been completely submerged except for his floppy hat-covered head), pulled on the fishing line and began reeling in the little fish. Disgusted, I turned and walked on down the hall.

At the end of the hall, I found another room with a pond in it. This room I entered. My father was in the room; he had also been fishing. Lying on a table in front of me was a beautiful large sunfish, with a hook in its mouth. I immediately began telling my father about James' fishing in the other room, how only a few small bluegills were in the other pond, and how James had caught almost all of them. I complained that now we would have no fish in that pond. My father was obviously concerned; apparently he hadn't known James was catching all the bluegills. My father immediately walked out the door and headed down the hall. I could hear him when he reached the other room; he hollered into the room to James.

Now that I was alone in the room where my father had been fishing, I looked again at the sad sight of the dying sunfish. I made a snap decision. I picked up the sunfish and began trying to pull the hook from the mouth of the sunfish. The sunfish was still alive, but would die soon. I struggled trying not to hurt the fish, thinking how some people – morons – believed fish couldn't feel pain. When I finally extracted the hook from the fish, I held it in my hands and slipped it into a tank of water – about the size of a commode's tank – sitting nearby. The fish lay on its side on top of the water for a moment, then began moving. Within seconds, the sunfish began straightening up, began moving and finally disappeared in the water. It might still die, but at least now it had a chance.

Of course now I would have to explain what I had done to my father. Obviously he had planned to eat the fish. But I didn't think he would be terribly upset. Besides, now he would have a chance to fish again for the sunfish. And if he really wanted to eat some fish, we could simply buy some frozen fish in a store.

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