Our beautiful male fish has died, leaving nine children, seven of which are grown, orphans. We are giving half of them away to our neighbor in an attempt to not be accused of animal cruelty. Our tank is really only supposed to house about three fish. We figure we can keep five since two of those will be little babies. The mother died recently. Our wonderful high school baby-sitter pointed it out. This seems to be a pattern, as it is not the first time she has been the one to discover the death of one of our fish. I think she has heightened awareness because she plans to study veterinary medicine in college. We were sad about Mama Fish dying, but our baby-sitter said, "I think she was just tired of having babies." Too true.
The photo above is an illustration for my forth-coming story regarding my love for fish but my inability to keep them alive for long periods of time. As my husband has said, "Good thing we're better at raising children than we are at raising fish." I think the reason I like fish is that they are contained and you can literally forget about them for stretches at a time (which is why they sometimes die on you). Anyone in my family can tell you that I am just not an animal person and I have frequently stated that this particular character flaw may be the one that keeps me out of heaven. That would be because I am not working on said character flaw very hard. Perhaps having fish makes me feel a little better.
The photo was taken in college when we had--and I am serious--a fish wedding. Well, actually, it was a fish funeral and a fish wedding all at the same time. It was a crazy, entertaining experience and I know all of you out there who attended will enjoy reminiscing about it....
After having two fish in our apartment that died within four days, we thought we were done with fish. In fact, these fish had been bought at Walmart, and the first one had a 72 hour guarantee, and when my roommate and I went back the lady told us we had to actually bring in the dead fish as proof. We did so and then asked if we could take it home for a proper burial, after which the woman explained that we couldn't because there was someone who counted the dead fish. To this I responded, "Who is this woman? How would you like to be the one in charge of counting the dead fish?" When the replacement died, I said I was through.
Then on Valentine's Day I went on a double-date with close friends to the Fun Dome, a large building with things like miniature golf and arcade games. We earned a lot of tickets and decided to buy two fish. We named them Valentine and Cupid in honor of the day. We decided that at BYU, an institution full of students who pride themselves on their high moral standards, we couldn't have fish of the opposite sex living together. We would hold a fish wedding the following week.
We printed invitations and invited the whole apartment complex. The wedding was to be held in one of the apartment common rooms. The morning of the union arrived. We were met with some unfortunate circumstances. The groom was dead. We quickly spoke with another friend in the complex and he agreed to allow Valentine to marry his fish. Our guest register, manned by a friend of ours, is still in my possession and reveals that 21 people were in the wedding party, including bride's maids, a flower girl, a bowl bearer, the pianist, a photographer, and several handsome ushers wearing tuxedos. In addition to these 21, there are over 30 other signatures (a couple of which were on behalf of fish), for a total of over 50 in attendance at the occasion.
We began by marching in, all wearing black and white, to sad music, which confused everyone because they thought they were at a wedding. It was explained that the groom had suddenly slipped away to the other side and that we would first be mourning his passing, then celebrating the bride's wedding to a different, wealthier fish named Raymond. My roommate and I sang a beautiful parody song we'd written to the tune of "All I Ask of You" from "The Phantom of the Opera." (I'm tempted to type all the clever words in right here but I'll spare anyone who is reading and just give you a taste: "Swimming at the Fun Dome two fish found love sublime. We named one of them Cupid, though we admit it's stupid...") Another friend read a touching poem he had written.
At the end we jubilantly marched out and everyone joined us in our apartment for refreshments. My roommate had gotten it all on video and I'm not sure I've ever actually seen it. I think I will ask her for a copy.
Part of the point of this whole thing was that after a short honeymoon at our friend's apartment down the street, they would be living in the groom's tank and thus Valentine's chances of survival were higher. She did actually die within a couple of months, but at least it wasn't my fault that time.
