That Sinking Feeling
I have a suspicion, and it is just a suspicion, that Dory, one of my son's two fantail goldfish (Billy Bob is the other) might not be in her - at least we think it is a her - best health. I may not be a fish doctor, and even experts agree that it's difficult to tell with goldfish whether they are truly ill or not, but in Dory's case, lying upside down on the base of the tank and not moving does seem to indicate I may shortly have a surplus of fish food in the house.
The first time we saw Dory was nearly three years ago when we went as a family to Pets-At-The-Retail-Park and peered into the aquariums in search of goldfish to populate the Bi-Ube tank we'd had delivered that morning. As much a fashion statement as a fish tank, the reflections off the top lit, cylindrical, Perspex aquarium blended perfectly with Gillian's taste for sleek, clean lines in our kitchen. I just liked the way the bubbles sprang from the central air inlet in the pebbly base and jostled their way through the crowded column of fellow escapees to fresh air and freedom - a bit like shopping at Ikea on a Saturday afternoon. But after a while, bubbles on their own look a bit bland which is why we decided to add some colour to our tank. Orange to be precise.
Getting a goldfish was, in theory, replacement pet therapy for my son, Christian, as his former pet, Katie the hamster, had passed away from old age, and being gassed at the vets when we took her in hoping there was a cure for lack of hair, wrinkles and lethargy. There wasn't, so pensioners watch out. In reality, the whole family felt Katie's loss and needed something to care for, something to look after, and preferably something that didn't bite if we picked it up. Hence the goldfish option, but without the picking up bit obviously.
Which is why, as a family, we were all staring and pointing at the teeny tiny baby fish filling the many tanks on display in the pet store. It went without saying that we had researched our choice of species thoroughly, and had strict criteria as to what constituted an ideal addition to the Barley family.
'I want a happy fish,' said Christian.
'This one's got funny eyes,' said Bethany trying to out-stare a truculent goldfish. 'I don't want it peering at me while I'm having breakfast. It's bad enough having to look at my brother.' Christian, quite rightly, ignored her.
'She looks nice,' said my wife tapping the glass above the sign saying Do Not Tap The Glass. 'Oh, wait. I've lost her amongst the others. I do wish they'd stop moving.'
'They're fish,' I replied. 'They have to move to breathe, and what's the point of a goldfish that doesn't swim?'
'Sharks,' said Christian. 'It's sharks that have to move to breathe. Goldfish can gulp water and force it through their gills.' It was nice to know that the A-Z of Fishy Facts I'd bought Christian at a car boot sale wasn't a wind up after all.
'I like that one with the twisted mouth,' said Christian firmly.
'You're right,' I said peering at the small fish swimming slightly apart from the rest. 'It's mouth only opens on one side. It's quite cute in a leery sort of way.'
A girl wandered up sporting a Pets-At-The-Retail-Park T-shirt. I guessed she was the fish assistant because she wore rubber gloves, was waving a blue nylon net and her badge named her as Ally - AQUATICS. Personally, I felt the manager had missed out on a perfect opportunity to place her in the CATS department.
'Right then,' said Ally, picking up a clear polythene bag from a pile by the tank. 'How many fry do you want?'
We all looked aghast until Ally explained that fry was the correct term for baby fish. Breathing a collective sigh of relief, we waited for Christian to choose his goldfish. 'Two, please,' he said. 'That way they can keep each other company.'
It was one more than we'd planned for, but you couldn't argue with his logic and, at 50p a fish, it wasn't going to break the bank. Ally swapped her bag, and hopes for a large sale, for something smaller. Using her net, she easily scooped up our disfigured friend, shortly to be named Dory, but had more difficulty with our second choice. In fact, I don't think we got the fish we originally pointed out as I'm sure it was pushed out of the way by a baby bruiser goldfish - the sort that would already be on the 99th percentile weight-wise at birth - just as Ally raised her net out of the water. That would explain a lot, as Billy Bob, as he became known, always was a bit of a bully.
Our aquatic acquisitions settled in nicely at home and soon developed distinctive characters. Billy Bob was all muscle and growth spurts - proving he was definitely a boy - and constantly searched for food, but he was a bit dim. Dory, on the other hand, was elegant and could melt your heart with her soulful eyes and hair lip that got more pronounced as she got older. She was also the smarter of the two and was always the first to sniff out the food tablets we dropped to the base of the tank as a treat. When Billy Bob smelt them, he would swim round and round in a frenzy of random searching, until he decided it was quicker to chase Dory to the food he believed she was blatantly hiding from him. I had stern words with him on many occasions, but sadly it was in one gill and out the other.
Like throwing bread to the cute little ducks at the back rather than the ones pecking at your ankles, we began to root for the small fry by positioning fish flakes on the surface of the aquarium near little Dory at feeding time. But Billy Bob would always muscle his way over and it wasn't long before he grew twice as big as his disabled companion.
Dory stoically put up with this and scavenged what morsels of food Billy Bob couldn't be bothered with and that she could fit in her small mouth. She seemed to survive more than thrive, but at least she was alive, if you get my jive.
However, we haven't seen her eat anything for well over a week now and her listless, upside down posture is breaking our hearts. Each morning we come down for breakfast and see her in the same position and immediately assume she's gone to fishy heaven, only to see her feebly flap a fin at us and gulp a tiny mouthful of water.
The books say she might have a swim bladder problem, or constipation, and my wife read on one goldfish website that a processed pea sometimes helps to ease fishy bowels. It didn't work which didn't surprise me. After all, assuming the human-sized equivalent, if you were suffering from constipation would you want to eat a pea the size of a football? I wouldn't.
So we wait patiently for the day that Dory struggles upright and starts swimming again, or the day she ascends to the surface unaided and we know for sure that her underwater days are over and her underground days are about to begin. We're all praying it will be the former.
x---x
(Update 12/07/2009)
Sadly, Dory did eventually depart on the long swim to heaven. We reverently placed her earthly remains in a coffin made from a Clairol Nice 'n' Easy Root Touch-Up box - it was the nearest thing to mahogany we could get. Interred six inches under, Dory rests in a quiet corner of our garden. Although Dory lives on in our memories and in our hearts, we felt her physical absence might be a problem for Billy Bob - after all, who was he going to corner down a dark coral alley now?
Hence, another trip to Pets-At-The-Retail-Park has extended the Barley family by two - Dexter, a silver and red Sarasa Comet, and Tinkerbell, a rich orange common goldfish (she may be common by name but she has more grace than an evangelical preacher at mealtimes). With their youthful energy they have brought a little light back into our lives, and a little colour back to our Bi-Ube. Long may they float the right way up.
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