I’m five years old, and bring home a goldfish in a plastic bag of water. I ask my father where I can put it, and he suggests an empty aquarium that’s long been sitting in the basement. I go down to the basement and release the fish into the tank. But the tank seems too small, and I’m unsatisfied. Then the idea pops into my mind that the fish would be much happier in the big pond beyond the forest. So I scoop it up into my bare hands, and embark on the path to the pond. On the way I accidentally drop the fish, and it gets stuck in the mud. It flops around, gasping for air. After a brief moment of panic, I lift it out of the mud, and resume the path to the pond. When I get there, I release the fish. Though it struggles at first, it soon rights itself and swims away.