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I went to the pet store after my
beloved albino hamster, Sully, died. I wanted another, but after looking at the
selection of little rodents, I realized that it was just too soon.
I
browsed around and found a tank of vibrant orange fantail goldfish, and they were on
special – buy two get one free! My last goldfish, Fishie and Swa, had gone to that big
pond in the sky the previous summer, and I decided to fill the hamster void with a trio
of fantails. I chose three fish as equal in size as possible in the hopes of deterring
any injurious roughhousing.
I decided that my goldfish would be French and
named them Fiche, Swa and Pierre. Fiche was the biggest, then Swa, and Pierre was just a
little fellow. After a couple of days I caught Pierre biting Fiche and Swa on their
tailfins.
“Pierre, stop that!”
He looked at me
defiantly and nipped at Swa’s bum.
“PEE AIR!” I cried furiously, but
he just continued nipping at the others.
“That’s it!” I said and
proceeded to fill the small octagon punishment tank with fish water. I had been through
this once already with my previous goldfish, and though I expected the littlest fish to
be a victim rather than the perpetrator, I separated Pierre from the
others.
Shortly thereafter, I noticed that all three goldfish had a case
of ick. I got ick medicine, but it was too late for Fiche and Swa. Swa died first, then
Fiche. Once they were gone, I returned Pierre to the big tank. After a week or two his
ick had cleared up nicely, and I figured he was out of the woods. I wondered if he might
be lonely.
“Would you like a little friend, Pierre?” I
asked.
He swam gleefully across the tank.
“Okay, but I will
not tolerate any roughhousing or butt biting. If I see any fighting, whoever started it
will be banished forever to the punishment tank. Understood?”
He wagged
his tailfins to and fro.
So I returned to the pet store and headed for the
tank of fantails where I found Pierre, Fiche and Swa. Alas, the fantails had sold like
hotcakes, and there were none left. While checking out the different available goldfish,
I came upon a tank that had goldfish and frogs living together in harmony. The frogs had
webbed feet and five little toes with black nails and tiny hands with four fingers. They
swam gracefully about with their little splayed froggie legs, and I immediately fell in
love. I found the fish boy.
“The little swimming frogs, what do they
eat?” I asked.
“Goldfish flakes. Whatever the goldfish don’t eat,” he
replied.
“So they get along well with the goldfish?” I asked. A good
mother researches such things.
“Oh yes,” said he.
“Then I
will take one please,” I said smiling.
“Does size matter?”
“I’d just like a little one.”
He captured me a chipper
little fellow who I immediately named Heriberto.
“Can I hold my new pet
frog?”
“He’ll run away if you try,” he warned.
And so I
brought Heriberto home and gently introduced him into the tank with Pierre. Shortly
afterwards, I got a call from my niece and excitedly told her about the newest addition
to my family. When we hung up, I went to check on the little fellers.
At
first, I didn’t see them, but when I looked under the filter, I was met with a grisly
scene. Heriberto had his mouth clamped tightly over the lower half of Pierre’s body.
Pierre’s eyes were wide with terror.
“Let him go!” I
screamed.
But Heriberto was like a dog with a bone. I quickly filled the
octagon tank, grabbed the net and tried to separate them, screaming the whole time.
Heriberto circled the tank twice with Pierre in his mouth before he finally dropped him.
I scooped Pierre up and put him in the octagon tank, but it was too late. He immediately
floated lifelessly to the top, a look of stark terror forever frozen on his little golden
fishie face.
“Pierre, wake up!” I cried. But he did not
stir.
So now I’m the proud mother of one murderous gangsta frog. Surely
Heriberto must be getting lonely. Perhaps I ought to get him a little friend….
