Saturday, November 12, 2005

One Fish, Two Fish


I have been thinking alot lately about how strange it is that I love almost all pets-except one. The fish. I actually have a recurring dream that I have to pick up one of the fish from the floor with my hands and return it to its tank. I didn't ask for the fish, that's for damn sure. But through a long story, which I will not include, I have four fish and a ten gallon tank. Correction: I have four fish remaining. There were something like ten or fifteen at one point, but I've been succesfully watching them die off for two years.

Don't get me wrong, these same fish would be great if they were in someone else's home or they were actually being taken care of, but I don't have the time or the love for the creatures to want to help them out. They get food, sometimes new water, sometimes new filters, sometimes I wipe the algae from the tank. Mostly, I wait for them to die. So, I watch and wait.

I am pretty sure that one of them is refusing to die just on sheer principle. I'm okay with that. I was relating this to my friend the other day and he told me it would be less painful if I just put the poor fish out of their misery and flushed them, but there seems to be some kind of ethical dilemna in actively killing the fish versus letting them live in the slums. That's really what it is, right? They aren't unhealthy or swimming in parasites-I even exterminated the tank once from unwanted snails-I don't let them get "swim bladder" or "fish pneumonia" or any other disease. But I wish that they could just lose their will to live and move on to the next place. I would even write a eulogy if it would make them feel better. Especially the big silver one, I hate him the most. I know the other three are pretty laid back and they would accept my half-assed attempt at fish care, but the silver one, Mr. Big is what I'll call him, he watches me. He knows my intentions and because he does, he refuses to die. Maybe in the end, my crappy care is worse than a quick death. But for now, the ambiguity of the situation is comfort enough for me.

2 Comments:

Blogger genderist said...

I don't do fish. Fish are ick, pun indended. I'm linking to your blog. :)

9:05 AM  
Blogger bad-journalist.blogspot.com said...

Your story actually reminds me of the South Park Halloween episode where Stan gets a fish from his aunt, and the fish keeps freaking Stan out at night. Eventually, I remember the fish starts killing people and making it look like Stan did it.

So if Mr. Big starts looking at you funny, you know what you have to do.

12:06 PM  

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