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Petsitting: A Fish Story
By Moryt Milo
My neighbor calls to ask if I can take care of their daughter's fish because they're heading up to Tahoe. I say it's no problem.
"Thanks, I really appreciate it," she says. "We'll empty out some of the water and bring it over, so you don't have to come by every day to feed them. "
In the back of my mind, I'm screaming, "Yikes, don't do that! Don't move them out of their environment. I don't want to be responsible for dead fish floating on top of a tank."
I tell my neighbor that I'd feel better keeping them at her place. I add: "You know how fish get weird when you start changing things around."
As if she's reading my mind she says, "Oh, don't worry if any die--we've already had to replace four."
I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. And wonder whether I'll be making a trip over to Dolphin Village to replace the non-survivors.
I've never understood why taking care of fish is so problematic. Dogs, cats, bunnies, even mice, on the other hand, are all much more work, and they have always survived under my watch. But with fish, there's a constant feeding concern, as in, how much food is too much or too little.
I decide it's best if I go over and check out the setup. I find myself staring at a small tank with a pump, aquatic decorations, three or four minnows and another large fish of some kind. My first thought is, how glad I am that they didn't bring this over. I thought we were talking about a goldfish in a bowl.
My neighbor says it's OK if I feed them once a day. But she shows me the food container, which has three different holes--one for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It seems as if I'll be cheating them out of two meals, so I ask, "Are you sure it's going to be alright if I only feed them in the morning."
Without hesitation she says it should be fine. But I'm not convinced. After all, they'll be gone a week. That's seven missed meals--14, if I count lunches.
The first day I enter their home it's really cold because the thermostat is turned down. As I head for the fish, I ponder if the cold air will effect a change in the tank's water temperature. But everything seems fine. I stick to the once a day feeding plan, but put in a little extra, just in case they get hungry for lunch and dinner.
All goes well until the sixth day when I ask my daughter if she wants to walk over with me. As I pick up the food and look into the tank, I notice the big fish doesn't seem very lively.
"Sarah," I say. "Check out the big fish. Do you think it's okay?"
She bends down for a closer look, as I gently tap on the tank. "I don't know, mom, he doesn't seem to be moving," she says. "And what's that stuff coming out of his mouth."
I look closer. He doesn't look too well.
My daughter says the fish looks dead.
I immediately think that I starved it to death. Then, we lightly tap the tank a few more times hoping it's asleep. Things don't look promising. Now I can only hope we don't loose more fish tomorrow.
The next morning I walk across the street with a note, which I plan to leave by the newspapers, apologizing for the loss.
But in the tank, it looks as if the big fish has moved. I wonder if it's because the motion of the water has pushed it into a different location. I lightly tap the tank and, sure enough, the fish wiggles. It must have been asleep, after all.
I walk out of the house relieved, but I forget to pick up my note. I consider going back. But what if they get stuck in Tahoe and I have to feed those fish for a few more days--anything could happen.
That evening my phone rings and it's my neighbor calling to thank me. She wants me to know that the first thing her daughter did when arriving home was to check on the big fish.
Then she says, "I guess one of the little fish didn't make."
"I guess not," realizing she's referring to my note, but not realizing until that moment that a fatality had occurred.
"But that's okay," she says. "It was the one whose eye was hanging out before we left."
Contact Moryt Milo via email at morytb@aol.com.
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Campbell, California
