Much has been written about the love between a boy and his dog. This story is about the genuine bond between a boy and his fish.
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| A refrigerator portrait of Fighter and Woody. This was drawn just days before their tragic demise. |
My oldest son loves fish the way most five year old boys love super heroes. After viewing
Finding Nemo for the first time at age four, he became obsessed with the ocean, the lake near our (then) home and any living creatures that make their home in water. It seemed like the natural progression on his path toward a career in marine biology to purchase his first goldfish for his fifth birthday.
It was a glorious occasion. Picture our entire family peering into a 50 gallon tank with about 1000 goldfish while my son pointed out the exact fish he wanted and demanded that the pet store worker catch it. He never waivered, despite her efforts to convince him to select one of the slow movers she was able to easily scoop into the net. After several failed attempts, when finally caught, my son's fish jumped out of the net and flopped around on the counter to avoid capture. In that moment, his name was set, "Let's call him, 'Fighter' mommy, because he fought to be free!" And so our journey with "Fighter" began.
Fighter started out in a bowl, but we soon realized that a small tank with a filter would be a better choice. Each day my son gazed at Fighter for long intervals and wondered aloud about what he might be thinking or what his life would be like in a pond. My three year old also had questions of his own, like
how many toys can I stuff in his tank when mommy's not looking?
Through it all, Fighter swam on and played his role as our pet goldfish flawlessly. Unlike many goldfish, Fighter was a unique silver color with black markings. Whenever my oldest son approached his tank, he swam happily around with the zeal of a trained dolphin at Sea World. Each morning, my son reminded us to feed him and marveled at his appetite. Over time, Fighter grew and we decided to upgrade his living quarters again. We purchased a 10 gallon tank for Christmas 2010 and decided to bring him home a little tank buddy.
Fighter's first few days in his new home were a joy to watch. He swam back and forth constantly and zipped around the fluorescent colored plastic plants at top speed. My son was thrilled! Unfortunately, his new tank mate brought more than the "variety" we had hoped for to our pet collection. From almost the beginning, "Woody" the goldfish just didn't seem to quite fit in. He didn't swim much, didn't leave the bottom of the tank and never quite had any spunk. Probably because he was carrying a deadly disease and was already sick.
About a week after moving into the new tank with Woody, Fighter started swimming less and hanging out on the bottom more. Then he started gasping for air at the top of the tank in a vertical position for most of the day. I didn't think much of it because I noticed that he still swam back and forth normally at night. Woody just hid behind a plant all day and we labeled him "the shy one." The end was near, but we didn't know it.
On Wednesday, my son awoke to discover that Woody was no longer at the bottom of the tank. He had died during the night and been sucked onto the filter. My first thought was whether I still had my receipt to go get a replacement. Woody was a typical orange goldfish that could easily be substituted by any pet store. While I pondered that thought, my husband flushed Woody to his final resting place and my oldest son wailed. Too late to replace Woody. I looked at Fighter and knew the countdown for his demise had begun because he was clearly not well.
Fighter held on for two more days- living up to his name with each frail breath. After searching the Internet for answers, we purchased a fish antibiotic and added it to the tank water with a prayer. We finally decided to cover his tank because watching him suffer was too distressing for my son (and for me too-ugh). Every time I thought we had finally lost him, he mustered up the strength to wiggle just enough to avoid the net transport to the bathroom. Finally, my husband couldn't take it anymore and he flushed him on Friday during his lunch break. Time of death is unknown because he hadn't quite gotten there when he reached his final flush. After hearing that part of the story, I closed the lid of the toilet and flushed it about three times as soon as the kids and I returned home from school. The loss of a fish is traumatizing enough without seeing him floating in the toilet after you get the news. (My son still won't use that toilet because he witnessed Woody's flushing)
My son took the news as expected- hard. He is processing the loss of Fighter and Woody and asking a lot of questions about death and sickness.We did our own version of a memorial service/ celebration of life on Sunday. Cake plus ice cream and singing silly songs about our pet fish. It seemed to help.
Now that a few days have passed, the requests for future pets have begun. My youngest son has already put in his vote for a dog. (!) Life goes on, and I'm sure our pet family will expand again. But none of us will ever forget the love we witnessed between a boy and his first fish.
Talk to you soon!
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