We are once again a fishless household.
After unexpectedly becoming the owners of seven goldfish two weeks ago, and then watching our pet goldfish population dwindle to just three within the first day and a half, the final few fish seemed to be holding their own. The kids still checked for floaters every time they walked through the kitchen, but no longer seemed surprised to find them all still swimming.
A full week passed before another one decided to go belly up. And then, another week of no news is good news. Those last two fish seemed to be doing so well. I don't know how exactly one determines whether or not a fish is doing well. But they were still alive long after their fellow county fair prizes had been flushed. And so in my book, that qualifies these two as true survivors.
And then, Friday morning:
How does that happen? These were the hardy ones. I don't know if they outwitted or outplayed the other fish, but they'd definitely outlasted them. And then, in one night, both of them went belly up. Maybe it was a suicide pact or murder/suicide. Maybe they were so deeply in love that flipped on its side, the other soon died of a broken heart.
I'd like to be able to say they'll spend eternity together because they were flushed at the same time. But because nothing can be easy,it turns out one of the children (I know which one, but won't name names to avoid future embarrassment) had recently used WAY too much toilet paper during a bathroom visit. Which meant the fish didn't exactly flush clean away until after a plunger was involved. There's just no dignity in death.
The kids don't seem to mind. AJ, sensitive kid that he is, wondered if he could use the fish as bait.
We'd already promised to get more fish once we return from vacation. So I guess this is just the end of chapter one. Stay tuned. Though I suspect it won't be a particularly long book.