Something’s Fishy Here

I am not a pet lover. Oh yes, kittens and puppies are cute – but they’re a lot of trouble, in my opinion. However, I also believe that every child should have the opportunity and responsibility of owning a pet. Unfortunately, my children have allergies to fuzzy or furry things, so that eliminates a lot of choices for possible pets.

When my daughter turned nine, I felt it would be appropriate to surprise her with a goldfish. I reasoned that the expenditures were minimal and the benefits were many – they take up very little space, make no noise, and require very little food or attention. I picked out a shiny, silvery specimen and she was appropriately surprised and delighted.

My son decided that “Wish Fish” should have a companion. Allowance money in hand, we went to the pet store. One goldfish was 39 cents or you could get 2 for 59 cents. Always the bargain hunter, and a kind hearted fellow as well, he splurged on two, and said one would be for his little sister. Blackie and Rainbow Brite joined Wish Fish in the new fishbowl.

I was feeling very pleased with my adventure into pet ownership! We were already talking aquariums, filters, pumps, castles and artificial plants. This could become a wonderful family past time!

Kevin bolted out of bed the next morning to check on his fish, Blackie. Unfortunately, Blackie had succumbed during the night. Kevin was devastated. “He didn’t even live 24 hours!” he wailed. Trying to comfort him, I suggested we could bury him in the children’s recently planted vegetable garden – citing the example of the Pilgrims being taught by the Indians to bury a fish with their corn. Kevin thought this was reasonable, so he and his father buried Blackie beneath the peas. The next day Kevin was positive that the peas had, at least, doubled in size overnight!

A few days later, the water in the fishbowl seemed very cloudy. I decided to change the water, even though I knew Jeannine had changed it the night before. As I rinsed the bowl, an inch of bubbles rose to the top. I asked her what she’d cleaned the bowl with. She said she’d used soap and water. I inquired if she’d rinsed it thoroughly. A horrified look crossed her face. “You mean you have to rinse it?!” she exclaimed. The next day, Wish Fish was belly up.

Rainbow Brite was now an orphan. She swam aimlessly about, but no one was very anxious yet to think about getting her some playmates, especially if they were going to die so suddenly. Our vegetable garden might well be the most abundant in the neighborhood, but the emotional trauma wasn’t worth it.

I was talking on the hone and my three year old and her little playmate mumbled something about “upstairs” and “shish”. Preoccupied, I waved them on and continued my phone call. My heart sank when I hung up and realized “shish” was “fish” and Rainbow Brite might soon be a candidate for the vegetable garden.

I raced upstairs, and sure enough, two chubby little hands were splashing merrily in the water. An entire box of fish food had been deposited in the bowl. I was sure that Rainbow Brite wouldn’t make it through the night, but somehow she survived that little episode.

Do I dare believe that we may be capable of having a pet survive for more than a week?

Epilogue: Jeannine kept a “fish diary” and Rainbow Brite lived 51 days until we went on vacation. At that time, we donated her to the aquarium at the children’s school for safekeeping. She remains there today happily swimming with her playmates. My children retained unlimited visiting priviledges.