Anyone who knows Chuck and me knows that we are huge animal lovers. Since we are now at Official Cat Capacity with three (Chuck says it’s a one in, one out policy from now on), I was very excited to add to our Wild Kingdom with the addition of a fish tank. I expected the run-of-the mill duties: feeding the fish, cleaning the tank, chasing the cats away from the tank, etc. But what I didn’t expect was the midnight feedings, emergency trips to the pet store, and nagging guilt and worry that one would normally attribute to parents of a new infant.
In fact, as I type this, our new tiger barb is struggling for life in a Tupperware container on top of the fridge, with mushed up peas floating on the surface. Cruel and unusual punishment? No, it is the makeshift fish hospital I constructed after I noticed his erratic swimming and frantically rushed to Google for advice. I have taken the liberty of diagnosing Tiger with fish swim bladder disease, which can apparently be cured by isolating the fish and feeding him mushed up peas.
Oh, did I forget to mention that we didn’t have any peas in the house, resulting in my emergency trip to three local corner stores? Fortunately the gas station down the street had one dust-covered can of peas buried on a shelf behind the Vienna sausages. I had to fork over $2.49 for them – which is more than Tiger cost – but I figure that’s nothing when you consider the average cost of an out-of-pocket prescription for a sick kid.
I tell you, you’ve never lived unless you’ve tried to force feed a sick fish mushy peas while he floats about in a Tupperware. I was actually trying to talk him into eating them (while kicking the three prowling cats at my ankles away). Finally, I just had to set him out of feline reach and hope for the best. But not before dropping a few peas in the fish tank for the rest of the fellas for good measure.
My makeshift fish hospital
We’ve already lost two other fish this week and in retrospect, I think they all had this swim bladder disease business. So of course now I feel guilty for not Googling sooner and stocking the house with peas galore. I am a bit sheepish about being so concerned over a fish. Yet at the same time, when I watch the little guy literally struggling for life, I can’t help being struck by the somberness of watching a living creature taking his last breaths…struggling to move…dying. And there’s no way I can just sit on the couch and watch Raymond reruns while that’s going on. I have to make a frantic pea run – knowing the whole time it’s probably futile – because at the end of the day there’s a sanctity to every life, no matter how small.
I’m not saying I’m going to go into mourning at Tiger’s passing. But I will definitely say a little prayer as I retrieve him from his mushy pea-ridden container, flush him down the toilet, and send him to the big aquarium in the sky. Where I hope there are peas.
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