Wednesday, August 06, 2008

My A-hole Betta Fish

First of all, this is not a photo of my Betta Fish, this is only a representation of what the male Bettas look like. If this were a photo of my fish, he would be looking at you as if you were a fool.

My Betta's name is Harry Fischmaker. I named him that as I think all animals owned by humans should have their own personality and name, hence his. From Harry's personality when I first saw him at a wedding I DJ'ed last year, he seemed lost not knowing where he was or what he was doing at a posh wedding, which was the same feeling I got. In fact, he and I, along with other Bettas on the tables of the guests at the reception, were really the only Blacks there but we got over it. Some of the patrons took home the fishes at their tables while Harry was left to himself. I decided to at least give the guy a home as I thought he may be headed to a toilet after the event so I took him with me.

Once we was home, I went out to pick up food for my new roommate and Harry seemed happy to finally have a nice place to call his own. Or so I thought.

I have never heard of a fish becoming belligerent or stubborn. In fact, I always thought that most fish have small brains and attention spans that last three seconds. I have never known a fish to be an asshole. but this is what has become of Mr. Fischmaker as of late.

A few months ago, I came in from dialysis after a very long day and flopped down on the couch to rest. Earlier that morning, I fed Harry as I usually do the very first thing when I get downstairs when he look fine and dandy. However, now things looked strange. I looked from my seat to the bowl which was about fifteen feet away from me and I noticed that Harry wasn't moving. there were no bubbles, no moving fins or gills and the water was still. Harry's eyes had the look of Janet Leigh after the shower scene in Psycho. I began to freak out at this point, thinking that I over fed my fish and now he's dead. I have a dead fish on my hands and it was my fault. I kept whining about how after all I did to keep him happy that now I'll just have to flush him down the johnny. I wasted all that money for nothing just help a guy stay alive long enough and he dies in my house, the bastard. I sighed aloud, picked up the bowl and began to walk up the stairs solemnly. Out of nowhere, Harry jumps from the side of the bowl and begins swimming around vigorously, moving up and down in bowl and looking me dead in the face as if to say, "Ha-ha! Got you, you stupid fool!"

There was a lot of swear words from me after that episode.

Ever since then, Harry has been tormenting me harshly. If I don't feed him enough, he gets into a fit and starts popping bubbles in his bowl. When he wants to be lazy, he'll lay on his side in the water and will not move until he is fed. I almost imagine that Harry has a Nazi colonel's voice from a 1940's war flick. "Zo, Mister Johnzon. You vill be feeding me today or ve will send you to the firing squad mit der quickness! You do not take care uff me, it iz I who take care uff you!"

Super. My fish is a black Nazi asshole. Swell.

The thing is Harry is my companion, my roommate and sometimes the only person or thing who listens to my troubles after a long day. I take care of him and he lies in the sun in the corner of his tank now. once in a while he jumps around when I lift the top, but for the most part it's comforting to know that there's something waiting for me to get home to make them happy. I dedicate this post my Composition teacher at school, Dr. Elizabeth Hoit-Hetford. Dr. H, as we students call her, recently lost two pets in the span of two weeks and my sympathy goes out to her and anyone else out there who've lost an animal. If I were to lose Harry, I really wouldn't know what I would do.

That is, if he doesn't play dead anymore. I just wish he'd stop bitching and whining all the time.

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