Only those who really know me know that I am not a pet person. I say that tentatively because some of the most important people in my life--whom I love the most!--love pets. One of my best friends is a self-proclaimed "crazy cat lady."
By far, my favorite pets so far since we've had children are the fuzzy seed pods that Wolfgang sincerely believed were caterpillars when he was younger. They were very low maintenance and rather cute, even for seed pods.
Now we have these fish. We started out with five. We're down to three. One of them died quickly, probably from the shock of being in a new environment. The other four seemed to be doing okay. Then I brought the bowl downstairs to clean it and left it on the kitchen counter for a day or two. Each time I got to the point of cleaning it, Bethany would need me and I would put off the task for a little bit longer.
This gave me time to observe the fish in a way that I hadn't before. I noticed that one of them was substantially smaller than the other ones (it's almost creepy how big they've gotten after just a couple weeks). He was having a very hard time swimming to the surface, and then Alex pointed out he was missing a fin on one side. Occasionally, the big fish we call Darth Fishee would occasionally come over and nip at him. I wanted to euthanize the poor little guy on the spot, because obviously he was in the process of dying a rather pitiful, painful death.
By the end of the day, that fish had died. These other guys are desperate for food all the time. I feel like I'm constantly feeding them. Can't they ever get enough, eating this strange concoction of artificial colors and processed fish guts?
(Actually, now that I'm reading the label of their food, it's pretty good! Salmon, cod, rockfish, shrimp, a little wheat, a few added minerals...)
So when I say "The Damned Fish," I'm not just using gratuitous profanity. I really do think that Darth Fishee is damned.
Sigh.
No comments:
Post a Comment