She’s Got PersonalityPosted: February 9, 2012
So you probably think this post is about Mea.
You are wrong.
I am going to talk to you about Mea’s fish. Sam Puckett.
Last year, after I was a horrible pet owner, I took Mea to get her first fish. I am proud to say that she is still alive and kicking. Considering how often she is either, A) Overfed, or B) Neglected, I am considering the fact that she is still alive a win. Last night, the three of us, cleaned out Sam’s fish tank, changed her rocks and filter and all that other gross fishy stuff.
My husband insists that the fish “likes” him. She does tricks. She comes to the side of the tank when he comes into the room. “She’s got personality.”
Where I do think she is a pretty cute little fishy, I don’t know about this whole “personality” bit he’s got going on here. She is after all just a fancy tailed gold-fish.
She does swim around. She obviously tolerates her overfeedings and underfeedings like a trooper. She has taught Mea a few things about being responsible, although now learning some consistency might be a good thing to go along with the responsible part.
We had fish when we were kids. We had turtles, mine died, my sister’s lived a long time, in fact it could still be alive in the “natural woodland” area of our old High School. The last time anyone saw her old turtle, a snapping one, he was almost the size of a stop sign. My sister had an iguana. The only personality the turtles or the iguana had were bad ones, or dead ones, I guess.
Now my sister had a fish that may have had personality. He was a tricky little bastard, this much is true. Our neighbor had “given” the fish to my sister. He was eating the tails off of her angel fish, and she was either going to give him away, or flush him.
He was the first of the aquatic animals.
His name was Albert.
You know, Albert Finney.
My Dad named him. I think my sister was 7 or so when we/she got him. He was kind of big gold-fish. Just a run of the mill feeder type gold-fish. Nothing pretty about him. In fact he was kind of weird light orange color. He grew, and grew, and grew.
He also lived forever. He seriously was around for about five or six years. By the time he died he was about four inches long.
He was an escape artist.
Once before my sister went to camp, she had given our Dad strict instructions on what to do for Albert while she was gone. Feed him, take care of him, don’t let him die.
He was fine. Dad fed him, made sure he stayed alive all the way through camp. We went and picked my sister up, she came running into the house when we got home to see Albert, and he was gone.
No where in his tank.
My poor Dad was so confused. Where could the fish have disappeared to while we were gone for two hours?
He started looking around everywhere, and sure enough found Albert two shelfs down laying on his side. My sister started crying. My Dad scooped him up in his hand to take him to his porcelain funeral, and he flopped, he flipped in my Dad’s hand. He threw him into the tank.
Albert started swimming.
He had little fishy bruises all over one side, and his tail split in two which actually made him kind of pretty. Our Dad made a lid for the tank so that Albert couldn’t jump out anymore. He lived for 3 or 4 more years after his little escapade onto dry land.
That is a fish with personality.