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2009-11-21

2009-11-18

2009-11-05

Agriculture

Lifestyles

Thursday, October 22, 2009 12:00 PM

MOSS: A fish-out-of-water tale

By VICKIE MOSS, Are We Done Yet?

I’ve never been good with fish.

I always told my kids, when they asked for a fish or a hamster, those aren’t good pets when you already have two cats.

The truth is, I’ve never been able to keep a fish alive for very long.

Despite all that, we got a betta a couple of years ago. My son named him Sparky.

Surprisingly, the cats weren’t interested in the fish. They did, however, sometimes jump up on the desk by his bowl and drink the water. I guess an endless supply of fish-flavored water is more appealing than a one-time fresh fish dinner.

Sparky died a few weeks ago. Research showed he lived an average lifespan for a betta, so I gained a little more confidence in my fish-raising ability.

We had a funeral for Sparky, but his bowl soon was filled by a new betta. My son named him Cutie Darkness, but that doesn’t quite roll off the tongue as easily as “Sparky.” So I just called him “the betta.”

A goldfish named Wall-E recently joined our pet menagerie. I bought a big, fancy glass bowl that became home for the betta, by virtue of his seniority. The goldfish inherited his plastic fish bowl.

It was a beautiful setup for the betta, but you probably can guess what happened.

I was awakened one night by a loud crash and the sound of shattering glass. It took my sleep-adled brain about a minute to process what likely happened: “Big crash, in the living room. What’s in there that could break? Oh, no! The betta!”

I’m not sure which one of the cats was guilty of knocking the bowl off the desk, but they both were looking excitedly at the lake in the living room.

Neither seemed to be enjoying a fish dinner, but I couldn’t find the betta among the broken glass and colored rocks.

I was about the give up and grab a towel to soak up the mess when I saw him on the floor. Not moving.

I grabbed the betta and he, thankfully, flopped in my hand. I rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a pitcher, filled it with tap water and quickly squirted some water treatment in it. In plopped the fish, gratefully swimming about his makeshift home.

I had no idea if the betta would survive the new, hastily prepared environment.

My son woke up as I was cleaning the mess off the hardwood floor.

“Is the betta fish dead?” he asked. (Apparently he doesn’t call it Cutie Darkness either.)

I couldn’t promise the betta would be alive in the morning, I said, but it appeared to be OK for now.

The betta, which I renamed Lucky, survived.

And my fish-raising confidence jumped up another notch.

Vickie Moss is public affairs editor for The Ottawa Herald and a single mother. E-mail her at vmoss@ottawaherald.com

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MOSS: A fish-out-of-water tale

By VICKIE MOSS, Are We Done Yet?

E-mail this story to a friend | Print this article | Enjoy the convenience of home delivery of The Ottawa Herald.

E-mail this story to a friend | Print this article |
Enjoy the convenience of home delivery of The Ottawa Herald.