The Fish Are Dead, Long Live the Fish
Dec. 25th, 2006 12:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lydamorehouseOn the day before Christmas, Bob and Frieda died.
Frieda had become “a sinker” a few days earlier. All the internet sites and books we consulted said she either had flukes or swim bladder disease brought on by poor water conditions (despite frequent changes and constant testing, Frieda always was our canary, and given the “oxygen” incident her swim bladder may have been compromised beyond repair.) I found her dead underneath the fake coral display. Mason, Shawn and I said a few words in front of the toilet and gave her a burial at sea. I was pretty shook up about Frieda since she’d recovered once before, and I was fairly certain I killed her. However, I was heartened when I saw a dozen or more fish floating at the bottom of the tank at PetSmart, all about Frieda’s age. My suspicion is that she may, in fact, have had flukes, although I’m sure her ability to cope with them was damaged by her oxygen trouble.
I bought two new feeder goldfish from a grumpy PetSmart employee who asked me who I intended on feeding with these fish. At first, I didn’t understand his question, being so wracked with guilt and sadness about Frieda’s passing. Then, I said, brightly, “Oh, I’m going to let them live.” He looked at me quizzically, or rather like I was INSANE, and then said, “How big is your tank?” Which, I kept hearing as “How big is your sink?” so I kept asking him to repeat the question until finally it parsed. I told him ten-gallons, and he seemed satisfied that, while I might be insane, I was, at least, providing a good home for the feeder fish. When two fish ended up in the bag, I thought about asking him to dump one back, but given our communication problems, I decided that since Bob wasn’t long for the world I might as well get two.
Little did I know I was being prescient.
Bob, who had been fine when we found Frieda, apparently decided he couldn’t go on without her… or he finally staved to death. Anyway, we just dropped in the bag to warm up the new fish, when Mason said, “Is Bob stuck?” I looked and found Bob wedged between the rock and the clam shell. When I moved the shell, up he floated, quite obviously dead. “I guess Bob is dead,” I said. Shawn, who had been rooting for Bob to continue to be too stupid to die, was stricken. We left the new fish in their bag to acclimate, and we did a second burial at sea. We waxed slightly more eloquent for Bob, but, even so, no tears were shed.
Then, we went down and released the new guys: Nemo and Gill.
Weirdly, Nemo looks a lot like Frieda, and Gill looks a lot like Bob. Granted, there aren’t whole lot of differences among these feeder fish, but… it’s kind of spooky. Joe, our sole survivor look gigantic compared to these little fry, and they’ve been hovering close to him clearly in awe of his mass and mad survival skills.
Mason has been coping with his usual aplomb. At random intervals throughout the day he wanted to know where in the sewer system Bob and Frieda were. “Have they passed the water treatment center yet?” he’d ask. I asked him what he wanted to happen to Bob and Frieda and he said, “I want a tiger shark to eat them.”
And so the circle of life continues.
Frieda had become “a sinker” a few days earlier. All the internet sites and books we consulted said she either had flukes or swim bladder disease brought on by poor water conditions (despite frequent changes and constant testing, Frieda always was our canary, and given the “oxygen” incident her swim bladder may have been compromised beyond repair.) I found her dead underneath the fake coral display. Mason, Shawn and I said a few words in front of the toilet and gave her a burial at sea. I was pretty shook up about Frieda since she’d recovered once before, and I was fairly certain I killed her. However, I was heartened when I saw a dozen or more fish floating at the bottom of the tank at PetSmart, all about Frieda’s age. My suspicion is that she may, in fact, have had flukes, although I’m sure her ability to cope with them was damaged by her oxygen trouble.
I bought two new feeder goldfish from a grumpy PetSmart employee who asked me who I intended on feeding with these fish. At first, I didn’t understand his question, being so wracked with guilt and sadness about Frieda’s passing. Then, I said, brightly, “Oh, I’m going to let them live.” He looked at me quizzically, or rather like I was INSANE, and then said, “How big is your tank?” Which, I kept hearing as “How big is your sink?” so I kept asking him to repeat the question until finally it parsed. I told him ten-gallons, and he seemed satisfied that, while I might be insane, I was, at least, providing a good home for the feeder fish. When two fish ended up in the bag, I thought about asking him to dump one back, but given our communication problems, I decided that since Bob wasn’t long for the world I might as well get two.
Little did I know I was being prescient.
Bob, who had been fine when we found Frieda, apparently decided he couldn’t go on without her… or he finally staved to death. Anyway, we just dropped in the bag to warm up the new fish, when Mason said, “Is Bob stuck?” I looked and found Bob wedged between the rock and the clam shell. When I moved the shell, up he floated, quite obviously dead. “I guess Bob is dead,” I said. Shawn, who had been rooting for Bob to continue to be too stupid to die, was stricken. We left the new fish in their bag to acclimate, and we did a second burial at sea. We waxed slightly more eloquent for Bob, but, even so, no tears were shed.
Then, we went down and released the new guys: Nemo and Gill.
Weirdly, Nemo looks a lot like Frieda, and Gill looks a lot like Bob. Granted, there aren’t whole lot of differences among these feeder fish, but… it’s kind of spooky. Joe, our sole survivor look gigantic compared to these little fry, and they’ve been hovering close to him clearly in awe of his mass and mad survival skills.
Mason has been coping with his usual aplomb. At random intervals throughout the day he wanted to know where in the sewer system Bob and Frieda were. “Have they passed the water treatment center yet?” he’d ask. I asked him what he wanted to happen to Bob and Frieda and he said, “I want a tiger shark to eat them.”
And so the circle of life continues.
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no subject
Date: 2006-12-25 11:07 pm (UTC)Not that any of the rest of you fish will die. This is just in case you, um, decide to expand the family. Yeah.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-26 01:13 am (UTC)He sounds a lot like my nephew Cole, who recently declared, "I like explosions and things with big teeth." Volcanos, sharks, dinosaurs: all freaking great.
Bob and Frieda: well loved.
Date: 2006-12-26 04:28 pm (UTC)