Pirates Are Mean

On the open sea pirates attack party boats and cargo ships carrying desirable crowns and bejewelled necklaces. Once their plundering is complete, they might have a nice glass of wine or XXX, patch up their wounds and be on their merry way. And usually it's those pirates who have one eye.

But not the case here.

My poor Rasbora is the one with a blank socket. I don't remember if pirates poked her eye out before or after I brought her home, but I believe it was before, because I don't know how pirates could have sneaked into my house without me knowing.

Either way, it’s pretty sad. This is what she looks like, compared to her cousin, Jeffery.

Although she is not allowed to drive anymore, she still has fun. Of course, the other fish have more fun, sneaking up on her left side, hiding in her blind spot (no pun intended) and following her all over the aquarium.

It really turned out great for her surprise party a couple of weeks ago. The others totally caught her by surprise when they jumped out with the cake. She really didn’t see it coming (no pun intended).

So, at 10 years old, she's probably nearing the end of her natural, captivity-type life. Doctors are pleased she has kept up her active lifestyle and the number-crunchers at FISH CHIP (Fish Cataract Health Insurance Plan) are pleased that her cataract surgery is half price.

So Fragile

My 50 gallon aquarium is home, primarily, to Sir Glubsalot, my Sailfin Gibbiceps pleco from South America. He is one-and-a-half feet long (a bit longer than a keyboard) and 5 inches wide. 2007 marks his 13th birthday. I doubt I will have a party for him, although, I might pour some Jack Daniels into the tank for him.

But I also have some smaller fishies which I take care of as well. I think a lot of people take fish-owning too lightly. If a $3.00 fish dies, the consensus is usually “who cares? He was only $3.00.” He then rides the porcelain bus down into the city’s bowels as a final farewell.

I feel differently. Just like any pet, I am responsible for their lives. I am responsible for the environment they live in, and if they suffer, it’s entirely my fault.

When we returned from our trip, I decided to relive my childhood by purchasing a pair of dwarf underwater frogs to enhance the lives of the small amount of fish I have. I didn’t realize this was an instant death sentence.

My filter is an Aquaclear 200. Although it’s a reasonably powerful filter, I have, on a regular basis, watched it struggle to pull even the smallest shit particles in. Any living creature with fins or webbed feet could escape its pull.

Sadly, Frog #2 wasn’t so lucky. It’s not that he couldn’t resist the pull of the filter, but rather, an unfortunate case of bad luck.

One day, after work, I discovered his lifeless body wedged into the filter tube, head first. My conclusion? He either had a catastrophic webbed-foot malfunction, or, swimming up to the surface for air, he must have slipped into the suction of the filter and swam straight up into it.

Hopefully, he died instantly, and didn’t suffer. Suffering sucks.