Eulogy for a fish

Listening to:
American V: A Hundred Highways, Johnny Cash.

Two more years. OK, a little less than 23 months. That's how much time I bought for my little handicapped fish by choosing not to put him "out of his misery."

And probably he would still be here today, if I had hung around to watch the fish eat the other day.

Longer-time readers will recall this little guy, who seemed to me to be on his last, err, legs in March '07. In fact I thought he was already gone, laying on his side at the bottom of the pond fishes' winter quarters, but when I reached down with the net to scoop his body out, he scooted away.

What I wrote then:

For several mornings now, I have come in to feed the fish and found this little one on its side at the bottom. When I come with the net, he rights himself, and when I set the net aside and drop the food on the surface, he wriggles all the way up - taking one or two wide, shaky arcs to get there - and grabs a flake or two. He's obviously sustained some physical damage, because he tends to overshoot the surface and get his whole face out of the water in his effort to grab some food.

No doubt the "humane" thing to do would be to "put the poor thing out of its misery." My guess is he's had the fishy equivalent of a stroke and may never be "right" again. But as long as he's so interested in food that he makes that daily struggle to the top, I think I'll let him and nature decide when it's time to kick off. Every little life deserves that chance.

Two summers and a winter-and-a-half later, he was still doing fine. More days than not, he'd just hang around on the bottom, but he never failed to come up when the food came out. And he didn't just lie on his side when it wasn't suppertime; especially during the summer, he'd do some bopping around the water in his shaky little way. And he'd still often overshoot the surface; I think that's what went wrong in the end.

This little fish became a role model of sorts for me. Don't let the setbacks keep you down, he seemed to be saying. Even when you're not quite right, you can still reach the surface and survive another day.

The last time I went in to feed the fish, I noticed the water level was a little down, so I filled the tank back up a little, until the water was a couple of inches from the top. Then I tossed the fish food in, watched for a few seconds - I always made sure the little guy could still make his way up - and then I left the room.

Today, I found my little guy on the floor outside the tank. My guess is he got up his energy and launched himself at the food, overshot the surface and went over the side.

He's only the second fish whose death ever made me cry. Remind me to tell you the other story sometime. I didn't think it was appropriate to drop him down the toilet or into the garbage, so I found a leaf pile that wasn't frozen and mixed him in with the outdoors. Silly, I know, to mourn a fish. What can I say?

But still - two more years. OK, 23 more months. That's how much time he gained because I decided not to "put him out of his misery," and not once did he ever seem to be in misery anyway.

How's the fish

Soundtrack (I should do this more often): "Nitty Gritty Surround," Jimmy Ibbotson & John McEuen with Jennifer Warnes.

While searching for some Favre art on my hard drive the other day, I found my fish icon and realized I haven't offered an update about the little guy who, back in March of ought-seven, I thought was thinking of making a premature departure from this earthly plane.

(Question: Is it "earthly plane" or "earthly plain"? I suppose it depends on whether you're flying or sowing corn ...)

The short answer is no pond fish have left the premises for some time now. This particular fish, you may recall, was lying on his side on the bottom whenever I approached the horse trough where we keep our finned friends during the freezing-water months. I thought he might be on his last, err, legs, but every time I tossed food into the water, he would jump up, struggle to the surface and eat like a fishy pig.

Nowadays, he is the most active guy in the pond, almost always scooting around and exploring his environs. It's interesting: I almost never find him down at the bottom during the spring, summer and fall, when he has plants and blue sky above him. But he does seem to sulk at the bottom of the trough, when he lives by artificial basement light.

Is this little white creature with a flash of red behind his gills subject to depression? Is his outdoors exuberance the equivalent of singing "You can't take the sky from me"? Or am I guilty of anthropomorphism?

Whatever. It's summer. The fish is having a ball.

Out of the cold

The fish come inside this weekend. Hard to believe they've had six months outdoors. I was a little late getting them out of the basement, and I'm a little late bringing them in. The temps have gotten below freezing a few times lately, so I'm thinking they're not to pleased to be out there anymore.

I guess my preference would be to spend my time under the skies with some vegetation here and there, as opposed to the horse trough that serves as their home during the winter. But probably fish would prefer warmish water to almost-freezing water. I have to stop thinking in terms of aesthetics, no doubt.

That particular fish has had more down days than up days lately, but under the circumstances I don't blame him.

Fish update

It has been a while since I mentioned my little fish buddy, who looked last winter very much like he wasn't going to be around come spring. You can read all about it here. Well, he may have just dodged another bullet.

All summer he's been the most active of the fish scurrying about the pond, which also has had a couple of froggy friends bunking for the season. Last week, the pump that keeps the water cleanish failed, and while waiting for a part to arrive via UPS, "the" fish has been the one who seemed to miss the filter most. He was back to hanging around in a corner, leaning on his side and not being a very happy camper.

His lethargy did give me a chance to capture him with the camera, so you can see who I've been writing about all this time. Anyway, the part arrived last night, the filter pump is working fine again, and my little guy (gal?) is flitting around the clearing water like nobody's business.

Just thought you'd like to know.

The fish come outdoors for the summer

Spring! We cut the grass for the first time this year, went for a walk in the sun, and brought the pond fish upstairs out of the horse trough in the basement and into their little summer pond. A new filter filters the whole pond a couple of times an hour, if my math is correct, and the new plastic frog that spits the water across the pond is spitting along perfectly so far.

The white fish with pretty red spots, our first "free" fish born of the original group, came out into the sun with orange tinting that wasn't visible in the artificial light downstairs. At first I thought he/she had some sort of odd disease, but then I realized he's part goldfish, so he's probably developing his adult coloration. Very cool! (Two of our original six(?) fish survive after almost 10 years, and we have seven of their descendants roaming around the pond.)

All eyes (or at least my two) were on the little guy who spent a good part of the winter on his side looking like he wanted to die. I'm not sure if the newly visible red spots around his face, and the two pink streaks down his back, are nature's colors or a side effect of his ailment. But I do know that by the way he's darting around the pond, having a grand old time, if I told you one of the fish was sick this winter, you couldn't pick out which one it is, and you might be surprised when I told you.

The world is full of sad news and death and destruction, so I'm always tickled when someone or something beats the odds and stays alive for another season. This 5-inch-long fish is the smallest hero I've ever had.

Mother Nature's healing power

I haven't checked the horse trough for a couple of days (fish don't eat as often during winter layover), so it was a bit of a surprise to see my "crippled fish" hanging around with the guys this morning. You might think the red streak around his gills was coloration, and he had not been sick, for the way he swam around the tank this morning.

An old comic book ends with the Fantastic Four flying into the sunset as Reed Richards intones, "Where there is life, there is still hope." I also learned a little bit about the health care industry with its pills for every little ailment: At least at this stage, it appears the answer to helping this little fish was to do nothing (except keep the little thing inside in a predator-free environment) and let nature take its course.

It's almost time to move the guys outside for the summer, and I've been a little nervous about whether he has the constitution to survive the change. But today, at least, he seems well on the way to licking whatever it was that ailed him.

Gas on the brain

David Letterman famously once asked Rush Limbaugh, "Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night and just think to yourself, 'I'm just full of hot gas'?"

Without meaning to, I think Letterman pulled out one of the top 10 questions most people ask themselves at some point in their lives ... in fact, sometimes I think asking that question on a regular basis is not necessarily an unhealthy thing, unless it gets you second-guessing your every move.

It may also be an unhealthy thing to charge through life never questioning the paths you've chosen, never waking up and wondering "Am I just full of hot gas?" On the other hand, if you're comfortable and happy inside your skin, you're probably on the right track.

Or are you? If you're feeling fat and sassy in this lean and troubling era, maybe you need to be shaken up more than any of us.

This is all by way of trying to explain the tail-off in entries of late. I have reached a harmonic convergence of steps outside of my comfort zone where, whatever step I contemplate, I start thinking that maybe I'm just full of hot gas. I may be just crawling inside a cocoon, caterpillar-like, with a cacophony of butterfly thoughts readying itself to burst out later. Or maybe I'm building up gas that poisons my brain. There's plenty of brain-poisoning material out there these days.

My standing advice continues to feel rock solid: Refuse to be afraid, i.e., refuse to yield control of your mind and actions to your fears. Most of the missteps and lack-of-action-regrets in my life come back to a failure to take my own advice.

When I have these attacks of angst, a friend of mine rolls up his eyes and urges me to shut up and just do something. Usually my response is "Do what?" but he's right - doing something is better than standing still. Sorry to cut it off here, but I'm off to do something. I don't this minute know what I'll be doing, but it'll be something. Fair enough?

P.S. Stroke-fish is still at the bottom of the tank, but more often than not lately he's been right-side-up instead of laying on his side. Lately he's been my good example.

Fish memories

If fish only have a four-second memory, then why did my little crippled fish come to life this morning when I loomed over the fish tank with the can of fish food? What made him leave his apparently comfortable spot, lying on his side at the bottom, and start wiggling his way toward the surface before I even spread the morning's bounty over the water?

The little one continues to teach me lessons in perseverance through tough circumstances. He has clearly sustained some brain damage that prevents him from swimming straight and tuckers him out, but come mealtime he stirs from his rest and goes for his share of the flakes.

I don't mean to anthropomorphize this fish . I just think other species can teach us something about survival - and when just the sight of me on the horizon spurred him to begin seeking food, it became obvious to me that he remembers events from longer ago than a few seconds.

Fish update

Not much change. It does seem like the little guy's somewhat weaker, but he still doesn't like it when I come near with the net, and he still squirms his way up to the food. He still wants to live, in other words. Who am I to argue?

Handicapped fish zone

A rather remarkable drama is playing out in a corner of our basement, where we keep our pond fish in a big horse trough over the winter. A few days ago, I went in and found one of the younger adult fish lying on its side at the bottom of the tank, a red blotch around one of its gills.

I sighed and grabbed the fish net for the inevitable disposal process, but to my surprise he darted away when I came near.

For several mornings now, I have come in to feed the fish and found this little one on its side at the bottom. When I come with the net, he rights himself, and when I set the net aside and drop the food on the surface, he wriggles all the way up - taking one or two wide, shaky arcs to get there - and grabs a flake or two. He's obviously sustained some physical damage, because he tends to overshoot the surface and get his whole face out of the water in his effort to grab some food.

No doubt the "humane" thing to do would be to "put the poor thing out of its misery." My guess is he's had the fishy equivalent of a stroke and may never be "right" again. But as long as he's so interested in food that he makes that daily struggle to the top, I think I'll let him and nature decide when it's time to kick off. Every little life deserves that chance.