It’s clear to me that there are two types of goldfish owners in
this world: those who have tanks with schools of thriving fish that
vaguely resemble a display in the local aquarium, and others who
might as well save time by taking their goldfish directly from the
pet store to the nearest toilet bowl, since that’s where it’s going
to end up, anyway. I am clearly the latter, which is why I’m
wondering why I recently gave into my son’s request and bought us a
goldfish. I think it’s our sixth, maybe our seventh.
It’s clear to me that there are two types of goldfish owners in this world: those who have tanks with schools of thriving fish that vaguely resemble a display in the local aquarium, and others who might as well save time by taking their goldfish directly from the pet store to the nearest toilet bowl, since that’s where it’s going to end up, anyway. I am clearly the latter, which is why I’m wondering why I recently gave into my son’s request and bought us a goldfish. I think it’s our sixth, maybe our seventh.
Before you go running off to call the Goldfish Society of America, I want you to know I think keeping a goldfish as a pet is a very important responsibility not to be taken lightly. Over the years, however, no matter how hard I try, my relationship with fish has always ranked right up there with my relationships to African violets and hothouse ferns.
Everything starts out easily enough. After all, any fool walking into a pet store knows that all you need to care for a cute, little goldfish is some water and a bowl, right? It’s not until a little later, after you’ve logged minutes and sometimes even hours picking out the one and only, most perfect fish on the entire planet, that you learn the kind of equipment you need has absolutely nothing to do with water or bowls.
Instead, before you know it, you, being the well-meaning and conscientious pet owner that you are, emerge from the store with a 55-gallon tank, a hood with fluorescent lighting, a tank stand, two Whisper 3 power filters, a large air stone, six feet of airline tubing, large air pump, power strip, gravel, fish food, filter replacements, de-chlorinator, thermometer, cork, blankets to cushion tank in car, plastic plants, one-way air valve, two buckets for water changes, a gravel siphon and a goldfish.
And let me just say that another misconception about goldfish is that because they are quiet and spend their day swimming around in 5-inch circles, you might think they have no discernible personality or inherent intelligence, much as, say, some politicians. This just isn’t true, however. Just ask my friend, Marilyn, who once had a fish named Sam. Now, to the untrained eye, he looked like an ordinary, docile fish. You would never guess by his laissez-faire demeanor that the reason he was swimming all alone in a 55-gallon tank was because he had a tendency to treat all of the other fish like free, happy-hour hors d’oeuvres.
Nor would you have guessed that he spent most of his day trying to suffocate the ceramic deep-sea diver under gravel. Or that, every time the family dog wandered by, he lunged forward and followed it along the front of the tank with his lips puckered into a snarl. Sam was a fish with a heavy-duty attitude problem.
But, really, who am I to judge?
Especially when my experience owning a goldfish has never lasted more than three weeks. Just long enough for me to buy $150 worth of supplies and to be fooled into thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, a delicate living creature could survive against all odds and actually thrive under my care.
Sometimes I don’t believe how naive I can be.
Debbie Farmer is a humorist and a mother holding down the fort in California, and the author of “Don’t Put Lipstick on the Cat.” You can reach her at
fa********@oa***************.com
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