The Good News, the Bad News, the More Good News, the More Bad News, and Then a Bit More Good News… Or Why I Shouldn’t Have Pets

The good news is that when two male bettas get in the same container together, they do not immediately kill each other. The bad news is that in order to correctly put the divider between the two halves of a betta bowl—so that the fish don’t end up on the same side—you apparently have to be smarter than the bowl. … And I am not. The more good news is that I fixed my mistake, and the fish seem to have survived their several close encounters.

On the other hand (the bad news), Ella is swimming really weird and spazzy and sideways these days, and then just lying around near the top of the bowl on his side. And he looks totally broken—all wonky and lumpy.* I was sure he was dying. You would be too. So Brice asked the googoracle (i.e., the all-knowing google) what could be wrong with our poor fish. It turns out (this is the good news, by the way) he most likely has one of two very common, treatable, and nonfatal conditions for bettas: swim bladder disorder… or constipation. And the best first line of defense for our Ella is to isolate him and keep an eye on—you guessed it—his poop. Now, I don’t know about you, but never in my life have I had any desire to watch the droppings on the bottom of my fish’s bowl just to see if it looked like, well, enough. And yet, here I am, doing just that. Oh, and guess what? Next I get to try to feed him bits of peas to help him get a little more regular.

Yeah.

You know what the biggest problem about this is, though? It’s the overwhelming sense of responsibility I have for all of this. When I thought he was dying, I kept trying to feel like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. I had this fish whom I was killing! It’s not like I was particularly attached to the poor thing (yes, I know, I’m a curmudgeon). It’s just that I didn’t want to have killed it. I remember how upset I got over a beautiful bromeliad that we had received for my mother’s funeral—I managed to kill it within a month, even though supposedly they’re quite hardy. I have felt guilty over the death of basil plants, for heaven’s sake!** What kind of craziness is it for me to be involved in pet ownership?! I will tell you: total, complete craziness.***

We went to the pet store to get the extra supplies we had run out of for our fish already (don’t even get me started on the costs of having pets), and the girls enjoyed looking at all the animals. I found myself with Addra, staring at the oh-so-adorable tiny little mice. And thanking my lucky stars that I had not succumbed to the insane desire I’d had on our previous visit to the pet store—the desire to take home some of those cuddly little critters.

That way lies madness.

*As a side note at this point, I should like to tell you that it is remarkably difficult to use the correct gender pronoun when your male fish is named “Ella.”

**Birds ate them, by the way. It really wasn’t my fault.

***It’s a whole different kind of craziness, by the way, for me to be involved in motherhood.