Fishy, Fishy, Fishy Fish

We got Kieran a fish for his bedroom. And because Kieran is three, the fish is called Nemo. (Yes, we WOULD also let him name a cat Garfield and a dog Scooby Doo). Eric picked up one of those small little mini-aquarium starter sets meant for kids at some clearance place last week and thought it would be perfect for Kieran's bedroom. He then suggests a fun family outing to go to the fish store and pick out a new fish - yay says Kieran! -so one night after dinner, we pack up and off we go. Once we are all in the car, it's already getting sort of late and Eric mentions that he wants to go to a fish store in Chinatown that his brother has recommended. But is late and I think we should just go the the big box pet emporium that is 5 minutes from our house. Eric relents because, after all, we just need to get fish for a three year old and how hard can that be? (Yes, you do already know the answer).

We get to the store, find the fish section (where Kieran loudly announces that he would like to buy a whale) and wait 15 minutes for the lone saleswoman to give us some help. Eric has found a tank similar to ours on their shelf, and tells and asks her to recommend a good fish for that model.

With barely, and I mean barely, concealed disgust, she points to a large aquarium, swimming with literally hundreds of identical goldfish and says: "One of those." The box Eric is holding shows pictures of quite a few fish that would be suitable for the aquarium so we tentatively ask if that is our only option and she says, more snappily than necessary, that yes, a goldfish is all that will work.

So I tell Kieran to go to the aquarium and the lady will catch his new goldfish. She opens the tank and catches a random fish and I ask how long we can expect the fish to live.

"In ideal conditions, properly feed and cared for, these fish will live 30 years."

"Really?" I ask, quite surprised. "That long?"

"Well," she practically spits, "with what you are going to put it in, I would say it will live a year, if you're LUCKY."

Now, Eric tries. He had really been hoping for one of the funkier options that the box shows. "Well, is that our only option? We were thinking of maybe getting more than one." He is thinking that if we get a smaller fish we can maybe have more than one.

Again, she barely looks at us. "Uh no. That tank is too small for even one fish."

And so much for our happy little family outing to get fish. Now, which was surely her intention, we feel like bad parents and bad people.

But, then I look over at the tank that she has just taken the goldfish from. It is teeming with hundreds of fish and the irony seems obvious. Does this woman actually think that fish was better off where he was? Or was she still holding out hope for the one in a million chance that someone with a huge house with a lovely temperature-controlled indoor pond is going to come in and their drop 27 cents and spirit our little Nemo off to goldfish utopia?

Sheepishly, we grab our little plastic bag and make our way out of the store.

On our way home, Eric is completely annoyed. Not just at the horrible, scary saleslay, but also at me for squashing his plans for Chinatown to begin with. As it turns out, he had been warned to avoid the very store we had gone to.

To make matters worse, after Eric follows all the proper instructions and tries to make sure that the fish has a nice happy integration into his new home, in less that 24 hours Nemo is not only not moving, he is listing alarmingly sideways. Of course, now I feel twice as guilty (The lousy saleslady was right!We ARE murderers!) and worried (How are we going to explain to Kieran that his new pet is already going to be flushed down the toilet?) and sad (Poor Nemo.) But then the next day, we are witness to a fishy miracle. We wake up to Nemo swimming happily in his little tank. Well, I have no idea if he is happy or not...but he is upright and alive and he doesn't have to visit the "fish doctor" as I warned Kieran he might. Take that, Fish Lady.

Sushi anyone?