The day I tried to murder a fish

We have four fish.

Aubrey was given a fish tank for her third birthday, one in which we allowed our fish to gorge themselves and die at an alarming rate. After one too many dead fish we gave up on the tank and put it in storage. It has been there for three years.

A few months ago Greg tried to sneak the tank out for Goodwill. It was spotted. Pleading ensued. We now have four fish, one for each kid. Current names are Bun-bun, Wally, Lolly, and Fireball. (Fireball had a predecessor, Alexander, who promptly died.)

A few days ago I decided that if our fish were to survive I had to clean the tank. The kids thought this was a terribly exciting. After lugging the tank into the kitchen I began the whole process, four little people excitedly watching.

I removed the fish to a temporary holding tank. I cleaned the tank. I cleaned the rocks in the tank. I scrubbed the castle in the tank. I wondered how I had gotten talked into fish. I filled the tank, lovingly dropped in the anti-chlorine drops, and got ready to return the fish. Almost done.

THREE FISH were in the tank. I was literally on that last fish, THE LAST FISH, when the stupid thing got all floppy in the retrieval net and hurled itself into space, falling at least 100 fishy stories off the counter onto the floor.

The subsequent pandemonium is indescribable. Nathan sank to his knees, sobbing and wailing, before sprinting down the hall to his room. Aubrey jumped up and down in the kitchen, screaming for me to DO SOMETHING, DO SOMETHING!! Dane curled up in a ball on the floor, alternately crying softly and screaming. Johanna ran away in fear, mostly because surely something horrible was happening given the other three reactions. I looked everywhere for the adult who was going to handle the flopping fish and only came up with me.

I didn't want to actually touch the fish and yet I couldn't let it lay there and die. I kept trying to scoop it up but it was jumpy and disgusting and kept flopping away from me. Plus, I wanted to pick it up gently, so as not to squish it, although I was sure the internal bleeding from that fall was doing the job for me. I finally had to let it drown enough in air that it stopped flailing around. I then TOUCHED IT, got it on a spoon, and dumped it back in the tank.

What do you know, it seemed fine! It swam around the tank like a demon possessed eel for a while but kept moving. I was sure it was going to keel over any moment but as the minutes passed my confidence grew. I coaxed the kids back to the kitchen to see what a hero I was for saving the fish. Nathan told me he had "never seen anything so scary." They all wanted to know whose fish it was. I assured them it was Johanna's (as if I really knew) and that it seemed okay. I tempered that comment with a good shot of honesty (Kids, it could die at any moment). The kids told me to never do that again and I said that was fine with me, Daddy could have this job.

I think the fish were his idea anyways.

p.s. Five days later, the fish still lives!