Fish Lover

I'll admit it. I'm attached to my goldfish, Guy. [Disclaimer: the fish actually started as my partner's alone, but it came to stay with me one summer and then of course, I came to stay with him when I moved in with my partner a year later.] He's got a great personality. He recognizes our voices when we come home and knows when to act cute so we second-guess ourselves about if he's already eaten. (He likes to eat, a lot. Note picture of tiny Guy, followed by picture of Guy now.)

Most people who have experience with cats or dogs or other furry creatures you can hug or hold in your arms don't  understand how people become attached to fish. People assume correctly that it is harder to build a connection with something you can't touch--so much of the traditional idea of intimacy in our lives comes from our experience of touch sensation. However, I think if we thought about it a little longer we would also agree that many of us have the ability to create intimacy without touch. If you've ever started a relationship with the help of online networking sites, or if you've ever sustained a long distance relationship with family or a love interest, then you know it isn't all about touch.

I don't have romantic feelings for my fish, by the way. But I have been observing him, caring for him, watching him grow for nearly two years. He has certainly become a part of the life I live with D.  We enjoy trying to persuade him of who his better "mom" is almost daily. There was a point last year when we weren't on a good communication schedule about his feeding, and he got too big around the middle to swim between the side of his tank and the black filter tube and cut himself. The glowing red wound in the middle of his iridescent body scales reminded me of the animated Hobbit movie from the 70s. It looked like that one weak area on the soft underside of the dragon. I wondered if something else hit him there before he healed if it would be the end. I wondered if he would have the wound for a long time and whether or not fish wounds get infected. The scale grew back but it's a few shades lighter than the rest, evidence of his battle.

Then there was this random weeknight when I was sitting on the couch and D was working at the table on classwork when Guy was playing with his rocks--literally--and sucked one back into his throat. I looked over and his mouth was open wider than I'd ever seen it, his gills were pumping hard. He was choking and there was nothing I could do about it. I had the urge to put my hand in there and try some form of the Heimlich Maneuver.  In 30 seconds or so, he'd managed to work it out himself and was back to his usual swimming. It was one of the most anxiety-ridden moments of my life. Watching him struggle gave me a flashback to the time when my parents were out of town and our dog Ginger had pneumonia and collapsed in my arms.

So, you can imagine that a week or so ago, when we realized Guy's tank filtration system wasn't working anymore, we were concerned and planned to get him a new system and/or new tank asap. We put him in the new tank last Sunday, and he seemed delighted--his usual outgoing self, showing off for our friends who'd come over to hang out. But Tuesday when we came home we found him not swimming but resting at the bottom of his tank, not wanting to move or eat. I thought he'd be dead within a few hours. So we took the new tank, rocks, filtration system, and plants back to store, not knowing exactly what the problem was/is. Guy is still alive, now Friday, but his tail and fins have started bleeding and deteriorating. What was once a much larger fin with soft, rounded edges like sugar cookie dough rolled out is now scallopped with loss, as if someone came along the edge with a cookie cutter and took deep cresent-shaped bites out of it. He has been living in the large bucket that is usually only a temporary home for tank cleanings. I don't know which is more difficult at this point: knowing that it must have been something I did in the set-up of the new tank that made him sick or having to watch his fins bleed and unravel before our eyes, slowly, without answers or solutions.

On top of these issues though, it sucks that Guy is a fish because I used to be one of those people who didn't get it, so I assume that when I tell people I'm sad about him, that they are rolling their eyes on the inside because I used to do that. I am different now. I am a fish lover.