I Do Not Have a Title and This Post Is Lame Anyway

With four enormous dogs in this house, we go to PetCo nearly as often as we go to Schnucks.  I keep begging the manager at PetCo to put in a small section of 2-liter diet cokes, but so far my request has fallen on deaf ears.  If he ever does it, it will cut down on my errand-running considerably.

So anyway, Tater Tot and I made our way to PetCo today for a bag or seven of diet dog food for our herd.  Except for Zeus, the labs have packed on a few (cough, cough) pounds, and we need to get the weight off of them.

Tater Tot loves to go to PetCo to see the fish.  I can’t steer the cart fast enough to the fish section, and every time we go through the same routine.  We look at the “Nemos” and the “Dorys.”  We look for starfish, which we never find.  We see bright yellow fish and black and white striped ones, and there’s one wicked-looking fish with sapphire-blue eyes that makes my skin crawl.

Tater Tot’s favorite tank is the one jam-packed with goldfish.  There’s a sign that reads something ridiculous like, “Guaranteed for 24 hours from the time of purchase.”  I suppose that’s a better guarantee than what we got with all those goldfish we used to win at school carnivals back when my brother and I were little.  Most of those were floating at the top of the plastic bag before we made it home, and we only lived about .2-mile from the school.

Except for one particular goldfish who survived the car ride home. Good old Henry.

Henry was one amazing goldfish.

When my brother was in 4th grade and I was in kindergarten, our house caught on fire.  We had just built an addition, and there it was, going up in flames.  My mother herded my brother and me out of the house (my father was away on a trip) and we went across the street to our uncle’s house.

The fire department came and promptly put out the fire.  The house was saved, and most of the damage was due to smoke and water.

As my parents and their friends were sifting through everything a couple of days later, looking for things that could be salvaged, someone found the fishbowl.  The water was black, and when the person dumped it out, there was Henry, flopping around like a, well, like a fish out of water.

Ninety-nine percent of goldfish can’t make it home from fairs and carnivals, but we had one who survived a house fire.

I’d like to tell you that Henry lived a long and happy life after that, but I don’t think he did.  As I recall, we put him in my grandmother’s fish tank where he was soon killed and quite possibly eaten by another fish.

I’m not really going anywhere with this post other than to tell you that we went to PetCo, looked at fish, bought dog food, and even though Tater Tot begged and pleaded, we did NOT come home with a goldfish because of the traumatic memories and I have from my childhood.

That and I do not want to (A) explain death to Tater Tot as we are flushing his new pet away five minutes after pulling into the driveway, or (B) take on the responsibility of cleaning a fishbowl on the off-chance that we were to end up with one of Henry’s great-great-great-to-the-nth-degree-grandchildren.

Goodnight all.


7 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. pcb
    Mar 24, 2009 @ 21:27:19

    I had one of those goldfish; his name was Bartholomew. He even survived getting stepped on (after he leaped out of the small bowl that served as his holding tank while I was cleaning out his bowl). I finally had to give him away because we were moving. No telling how long that bad boy survived…


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  3. Kelley
    Mar 25, 2009 @ 08:50:07

    “Ninety-nine percent of goldfish can’t make it home from fairs and carnivals, but we had one who survived a house fire”

    That’s like the beta fish I got as a “prize” at a wedding. It lived through more than I could ever imagine!


  4. Kim H.
    Mar 25, 2009 @ 09:37:22

    Too funny – even you can make a trip to PetCo sound interesting! 🙂


  5. Jamie
    Mar 25, 2009 @ 10:15:53

    Poor fish. If the goldfish of today were to rise up and rebel and throw off the yoke (or fish net) of tyranny, they’d have some great stories to tell their great-grandfish.

    When I was about 7, I had two goldfish. We lived in one of those houses where the heating vents are in the floor, and one day the goldfish bowl went tumbling — probably my fault — and poor Blackie (can you guess what color he was?) fell down the vent. During the winter. When the heat was on.

    Somehow, my mom got the grate off, and we eventually got him back into his bowl. I think he even lived for a while after that. True story.

    And that’s my pathetic goldfish story. Kind of makes good old Henry look like a hero, doesn’t it?


  6. Meg @ Spicy Magnolia
    Mar 25, 2009 @ 17:40:58

    Don’t think this is a lame post at all! Don’t know why I’m so emotional, but I found myself getting weepy over your story of Henry. Poor Henry! That would make me not want to come home with a goldfish either. I did receive a fish tank for Christmas one year and that was fun….if Tater Tot is still fascinated with fish in a few years, maybe? Just maybe?? 😉


  7. Quirky is a Compliment
    Mar 25, 2009 @ 20:50:38

    Oh my goodness! That crazy Henry! I once had a fish tank heater go on the fritz while I was on vacation. I came back and the thermometer had topped out and all my fish were boiled. Ewww! Well, except for my danios. They were swimming around like everything was just fine. Nothing kills those fish.


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