Friday, March 11, 2011

Fish of Gold

Last June, at one of the many summer festivals that dot the rural landscape in Indiana, my 9-year-old son decided to spend his money and try and "win" a goldfish.  This was, of course, after his father specifically asked him to NOT do so.  But he did anyway (after asking mom, I think) and, yes, he "won."  I put "win" and "won" in quotes because I really doubt there's much sporting about the proceding.  Pretty much anyone who plays will come away with a doomed little frightened goldfish in a plastic baggy of water and tied with a twisty.  In our case, Theo had two such baggies in his hands and a big grin on his face.   Did I mention, one baggie had sprung a small leak?   Already, dark clouds were forming.
We rushed home and went through the basement to dig out our fish-tank...a cheap, plastic, smallish tank that we purchased five years ago for such an occasion.  The box was dusty and the oft-used gravel was wrapped up in a little bread bag inside.  We filled it up with water and started the patented "bio-wheel" spinning (this internal device is designed to grow gunky green slime that somehow helps the fish breath however, if the fish ever actually saw the bio-wheel, they would vomit, but I digress.)  In the middle of the gravel we placed the little plaster "castle" with two sad-looking fake plants coming out of the top.  Welcome home, fishies! These will likely be the last views you'll see.
First task, of course, was the name them.  In the past we had "Goldie" and "Lucky" but Goldie died young and Lucky never lived up to his name, failing to survived a week-long power outtage three years ago.  BTW, one good thing about previous dead goldfish is a much lowered expectation on the part of the boys, who seem to have grown to understand and accept the fragile lifespan of a fish. Theo decided to try "Goldie" again (Goldie II) and the other, to differentiate, would henceforth be known as "Tails."   They seemed happy with their names and, fortunately, seemed also to get along pretty well.  I'm not sure what we would have done if they didn't enjoy each other's company.  As I said it's a very small bowl.
Did I mention our bad luck with past goldfish--especially the breed of fish one wins at rural summer festivals?  I think the "record" was held by Lucky, who manged to eek out about six months of existence in "the little tank on the kitchen counter."  Others faded after just days or a few weeks.
Thus, I am somewhat amazed to sheepishly report, then, that Goldie II and Tails are, as of this morning, doing quite well.  In fact, they've almost tripled in size and now have a tough time turning around in "the little tank on the counter."  Like baby birds, they actually know at what time of day they are fed and crowd the plastic window to look mournfully at the fish flakes' box until I open the lid and dump some in.  They have actually grown up to be beautiful, albeit slightly obese, fish and Tails in particular belies his (or her) well-chosen moniker.  Best of all, they have survived a one-day power outtage and a weeklong vacation (we took them to my cousin's house).  Of course I still do all the work: cleaning the gravel, changing the filter, feeding them twice a day--but I must admit, to borrow from Professor Higgins, I've grown accustomed to their faces.   So now I must decide...
Do I take the plunge and buy a "real" tank with a better aerator and more space?  Do I expand with more fish...maybe some blue or red ones?  Maybe acquire some fish that actually do some of the cleanup work?  
It's been ten months now for Goldie and Tails.  It's their first "Lent," do I dare tell them about Fridays?

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