It would have been simpler if I had a Spot, a Fido, a Snowy, or a Cocoa. I would much prefer to dust and vacuum up dog hair, or even walk it at the most inconvenient hours of my day rain or shine; leash in my right hand and shit bag in my left. Instead I have been cursed with two Betta fish, Barry and Berry, each housed in his own tank because they are a territorial fish.
It seemed the simpler of the options at the time. Both my kids wanted a pet, what they really wanted was a dog, but because of the foolish inconveniences and responsibilities that come with answering to another life, I felt that fish would be a good way to teach my kids about obligation and caring without the hassle of a full time commitment. Easy enough to clean a tank and feed, easy enough to dispose of if they forgot. My one problem that I did not foresee-I care too damn much.
The care instructions from the pet store were as follows, feed fish every other day and change half it's water once a week. For the first few days the kids scurried, "It's time to feed them, they haven't eaten." The kids would drop 4-5 pellets into the bowls and watch as the Betas ate them two at a time and then spit it out and repeat.
After a few weeks, and a thorough cleaning, I noticed a mass of bubbles at the corner of one of the tanks. I wondered if someone had dropped something in the tank, like soap, but once I cleaned the tank again, the strange bubbles resurfaced. The fish bowl adjacent to the tank had the same issue. The next morning I Googled ' Betta fish and bubbles' to find out that what they were doing was preparing a nest to take care of the eggs from a female Betta. The female fish lays the eggs, it's the male fish that catches the eggs in his mouth and collects them in the saliva bubbles that he created until they are ready to hatch. In Guppy terms I told the kids that Berry and Barry needed girlfriends. So cute, and yet so sad.
Each week I'd clean out the tank/bowl only to find another bubble nest that would go on unoccupied. Every time I cleaned the tanks, I felt like a geriatric delinquent, breaking into someone's home and vandalizing a room decorated with love for a baby to be.
The next morning, on my never ending list of Things to Do, I add
:
purchase female Bettas.
Every time I looked at the list I groan to myself.
This was supposed to be a beginner fish tank experience.
I let it go for another day. As I'd come into the kitchen to pour my coffee, Berry and Barry followed my every move, from pouring to sipping. It became very uncomfortable. They would sit just beneath their bubble nests, staring at me and fluttering their pectoral fins, like an impatient woman tapping her fingernails at an empty customer service desk.
Later that day, I pulled up in front of Petco where happy, anonymous, LEASHED pet owners pranced their canines to and from the automatic sliding doors. I walked strait to the fish department. There I saw the trap that started all of this fish nonsense. Cute and colorful unsuspecting beta fish in all sizes suspended in small plastic containers. I looked around, only able to find more males.
I walked into the heart of the fish department, where filtered tanks hummed and thousands of fish paced in their glass prisons. An employee asked if I needed any help at which time I began to explain my dilemma. "My bettas are bubbling, I think they need girlfriends."
"you can just clean out the tank." Smiled the employee.
"but I feel so bad for them. They keep building that crib and they have no baby to rock."
"you know the female has to be ready too." He said. How true to life, I thought.
"how do you tell?"
 |
| Taking my fish responsibilities way too seriously. |
"From her swollen belly." He continued to explain that after the male squeezes the eggs from the female, she needs to be placed in a separate tank. (we'll call it 'tank I didn't want #3') After the eggs(anywhere from 150-500) hatch, the male takes care of them, after 6 weeks, they all need to be separated. Too much for me to handle.
"Unless you want to be a breeder, I'd advise you to hold off from purchasing any females." That was the fish professionals advice to me.
I walked in as a concerned fish owner and almost turned myself into the 'crazy fish lady' from an episode of Hoarder on that A&E show. I imagine the ping of the glass as the camera crew tip toes its way around some 200 make shift fish bowls/jars/drinking glasses each with it's own single Betta fish inside. Of course you'll never see my full head shot because I am constantly at the sink cleaning out fish tanks and feeding each little guy and calling him/her by name. I cry about how my husband and children have abandoned me and how my siblings and parents have given up all hope. I have bloodworms in my hair and an aquarium net stuck to my ass. I eventually clean up my act and due to public sympathy am given a job as a mascot at the local aquarium. No. I don't think so.
I know it's going to be a problem once I get home. The kids will cry, and I may mope around when I drink my coffee for the next few mornings when Berry and Barry look to me for answers. I walked out of Petco empty handed, feeling like more of a pervert than an animal lover, overcome by a strange satisfaction of knowing I am the responsible party for my conception- and mine only.
