The new 55 gallon aquarium is going through it’s “new cycling” phase. See future post for more on this or just forget about it for the purpose of this post! One of the starter fish, the smallest, started doing poorly a day or two ago. First he was lethargic and not eating. Then, the other fish starting nipping at him and he cowered in a top corner away from everyone. I came home from work this evening and did a quick head-count. Everyone still present and accounted for – well, almost. The sickly one was not only without pieces of his tail fin but entirely without the tail fin and in fact, a few bites out of his body. Cringe.
What to do? He wasn’t dead so I couldn’t Doctor Kevorkian him could I? “What do fish feel?” I wondered as I looked at him (her?) and followed quickly by a second thought of, “How can he swim without a tail?” Then I couldn’t get an old children’s poem out of my head – the one by Shel Silverstein about being eaten alive by a snake. Yeah, I know, a children’s poem about being eaten alive by a snake… not today’s topic. An aquarium is supposed to be relaxing, and sitting in my living room working on the computer while twelve fish are slowly eating another fish alive is, I must say, not at all relaxing.
I determined to put this fish out of it’s (removing personal pronouns at this level does make it easier) misery. By it’s, I mean equally mine. By mine, I mean, I’m not being eaten alive by other apartment dwellers in my building, so I guess in the end I’m actually putting my uncomfortability out of it’s misery along with this poor thing. Decision made, it was only up to the “how”. I remember my brother having caught a mouse, mangled, but still alive, in a trap. He dumped it in a sack in his back yard and proceeded to whack it into jelly with a shovel. Then I remembered too how grossed out he was – plus I live in an apartment and have little need for a shovel. The closest thing I’ve got is a large serving spoon. Albeit, the comparative size of mouse vs. shovel and fish vs. spoon ratio out pretty well, I’d feel guilty serving potatoes again with that spoon.
I remembered my brother’s claims that last time I owned a tank I had dispatched of a sick fish by dropping him head first into a growling garbage disposal. To tell my side of it, I still claim this is a story I told my brother about another person and he has somehow transposed the deed unto me. I personally think he carries guilt over the mouse jelly incident. My proof is that, no matter how quick it might be for the fish, I am still grossed out by the thought of dropping a partially eaten yet alive animal any-side-first into spinning blades of death. Way way way too up close and personal. Heck, I still think meat comes from the grocery, not animals.
Which left me only one other option, cliche as it might be, that I could think of at the time. Dropping a partially eaten yet alive animal any-side-first into swirling waters of doom. Much much much different than my other option. Sure the fish would live longer somewhere in the dark bowels of the apartment sewage system but I wouldn’t have to distress my sensibilities with the sound of grinding garbage disposal blades. Flushing was like burial at sea. Perhaps honorable, even. Perhaps even the possibility he’d be snapped up by the jaws of a waiting sewer gator eliminating all chance of long suffering, AND paying tribute to the circle of life. Yes, this was the way to go.
And so it was.
Except now I’m afraid to sit on the stool. To paraphrase, “Karma’s a real fish.”
Sick fish? What did you do? Sound off in the comments!
