That fish. It was supposed to be an impossible game to win. You know the one – where you throw the ping pong ball into a teeny tiny fish bowl (smaller than a Solo cup, ahem). I assumed my daughter would take after me when it came to beer games, or should I say, throw-a-ping-pong-ball-into-a-fishbowl-game. But no, she takes after her father.
One throw.
Sunk.
Winner.
New family pet.
Meet: Swishy Dubowsky.
Lucky for us that a fish is the one family pet the husband isn’t allergic to. Well, assuming the husband doesn’t eat it, haha.
Unlucky for us that the lifespan of a fish – especially one won at a Town Day – is like 4.2 hours. I had it on good authority that this fish wouldn’t last long. No fish from Town Day does. The stories are famous. Families winning these fish, and then rushing out to get everything a fish could ever want (?), like a 10-gallon tank with beautifully colored neon rocks. Real live plants. Other fish to keep it company. Organic fish food. The works. Families had ceremonies to name these fish, and Facebook notices were sent out welcoming everyone’s various Goldie, Bubbles, and Dory to the family.
But then inevitably – read: the next morning – the fish would be found belly-up, having met their maker, cashed in their chips, bought the farm, or whatever other (hysterical?) synonyms exist for kicking the bucket. Tears would be shed. There would be lots of hugs. And funerals would be held around the family toilet as the fish would be flushed to a better place.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I wanted Swishy to follow his friends. At all. But I’m a realist. What are the chances that our fish – when hundreds of others couldn’t make it through the night – would make it any further? So no, I didn’t get attached. I didn’t get a new bowl. I didn’t go out and buy fish food. Like my kids, Swishy ate what I served, and was subsequently thriving on bread crumbs, the lettuce garnish I had leftover from a sushi order, and bacon pieces every morning. (The rationale behind the bacon, by the way, was that since a lot of fish food is derived from shrimp, bacon seemed appropriate, right?)
Side note: when I said, “like my kids” above, that did not mean I feed them bread crumbs, lettuce garnish, and/or bacon for meals. I promise.
But Swish defied odds. He lived through that first night. And then the second, third, and fourth. And then a week. (We were setting records, here!) As we approached a month, we became the talk of the town. Because remember, Swishy was living on breadcrumbs and bacon.
Let’s be clear about one thing though. I changed his water every other day. Religiously. It’s one thing to only eat bacon, but he was not going to live in filth. Not on my watch. Remember, I only had a tiny fish bowl, and goldfish are known for their extreme waste (true fact), so every other day I would set out a pint glass of tap water, let it come to room temperature, and scoop Swishy out – with my hand – to transfer him between bowl and pint glass. Every.other.day.
Once word got out of this ridiculousness, our family started to rally behind us. He made the grandparent’s annual Christmas letter, my sister-in-law sent us home with a portable filter and a bigger bowl after our Thanksgiving visit, and what do you think appeared under the tree from Santa on Christmas Day? The Cadillac of all fish tanks. A Fluval. With rocks. Fake plants (who are we kidding?). Real fish food. The whole shebang.
We set him up within a week. Happy New Year to me! No more having to change his water every other day! I may or may not have made a New Year’s Resolution to clean the tank monthly, but we all know how New Year’s Resolution’s go. Here we are, nearly 11 months later…The recommendation to change the carbon in the filter every 2-4 weeks? Meh. The recommendation to replace the Biomax monthly? Meh. How about once every…oh, I don’t know, what did I say? Nearly 11 months or so?
To be fair, part of my fear, and my sincere hesitation in cleaning his tank more regularly, was perhaps that a clean take would kill good ‘ole Swish. That, and cleaning a tank is a giant pain in the butt, but I digress. Anyway, the inch of film (read: white mold) at the very top of the tank finally pushed me over the edge. I did it. I cleaned the tank. Or should I say we? It was a family affair. Two days later and guess what? That clean tank that I was convinced would kill Swish? Nah, he’s still swimming, he hasn’t met his maker, or cashed in his chips; he hasn’t bought the farm or kicked the bucket
Maybe next time I won’t wait a year to clean the tank? What do you think, Swish?
