Monday, January 27, 2014

Just Call Me Darla

L.E. wanted a new pet. She asked for a bunny, a gerbil, a hamster, a bird and a kitten. I told her to be content with our dog. Then she asked for a fish.
OK, I thought. A fish is easy, I thought.
Never mind the multitude of guppies and goldfish from my youth that ended up with a porcelain funeral.
We went to the pet store and got a betta. L.E. named him Alex.
He had a tank and some colorful pebbles.
Nemo and Dory figurines were his friends.
Less than a week later, he was floating upside down.
We pulled the old switcheroo: got a similar-looking fish and replaced him while L.E. was at school.
She was none the wiser and never knew that Alex was actually Alex #2.
Until this morning.
R.I.P. Alex #2.
I decided not to hide it from her. I'm going to be honest and tell her that fish don't last forever. Sometimes they don't even last a week 2 weeks. Either the water was too cold or we fed him too much. He just didn't make it.
THEY just didn't make it.
I should have noticed something was up when I saw him burrowing under Dory.
Truthfully, I thought he was "mating" with her or something.
This is what happens when you buy your not-quite-four-year-old a pet without thinking it through.
How is the dog still alive?
How is L.E. still alive?
How many times will PetSmart honor their two-week return policy if your fish dies?
For you animal lovers out there who are ready to call the Fish Protective Services, know that Alex #3 will not come home until the tank is ready and we undergo some training, i.e. Googling.
I'm just glad it's not hamsters.