A fishy tale

I don't have a pet but I have never been one to let a detail stop me from engaging in a challenge of any sort and especially not a rather enjoyable one like this, a story about my favorite pet moment. But how do I qualify for favorite pet moment if I have no animal companion?

Well, looking back into the dusty annals of what is now my past, I have had numerous pets and can think of many wonderful times where I have felt warm, comforting thoughts and feelings as a result of contact with another member of the animal kingdom. But more recently, I was the partial custodian of a rather fine fish called Marshmallow (it was ostensibly my son's, hence the status of "partial") of whom I was very fond (you could say "partial to"). Marshmallow may seem a strange name for a fish but he was called that as he was white when we brought him home. He has since developed into a rather fine black and red specimen but alas, he is no longer ours.

My son and I had to find Marshmallow a new home when we decided to move from Canada back to the UK. Pets can be taken on planes but water is more tricky and due to the symbiotic relationship that Marshmallow had with water (i.e. he needed it to survive), we didn't feel that we could extract him from that environment easily and keep him as a pet in the future. There may have been restrictions on bringing fish on the plane too. Having watched many an episode of "Border Patrol", where suitcases of plant fodder as well as Italian hams are retained by the authorities, it seemed likely that Marshmallow, unless he was actually a marshmallow of the soft, sugary, puffy variety would have to remain safely Canadian. Besides, the whole point of bringing him with us was to enjoy him as a living being, which was highly unlikely to be achieved if he flew with us.

We were lucky in that a very dear friend of my son was considering getting a fish tank and by extension, a fish, and so, after careful vetting and discussion which involved asking if Adam wanted him, it was agreed that Marshmallow would be his new pet. We were relieved. Sad. A mixture of feelings, but pleased overall that we had found a good home for our pet.

You see, despite his lack of furriness and the limited interaction you can have with a fish, I loved that fish. And I mean that sincerely.

I didn't want to leave him. He was my friend and more than that, he was part of the family.

I knew that it was going to affect my son to leave him behind too as it was his first pet and he had been desperate to have a fish. When he finally got him, as purchasing fish can be quite difficult through Covid lockdowns, it was a really happy day. I can remember helping to choose the mock plants that we would put into his tank and the pirate treasure chest that he would be able to swim into and out of. Betta fish like to explore, my son advised and he considered the options presented on the racks infront of us, to ensure that his fish would have the best start and would enjoy his new home. We brought him home in his tiny plastic container, which I suspect he was already done exploring, and prepared to ensconce him in his new fishy digs.

I was nervous. My brother had fish when we were younger but I never had any involvement in the care of them. I was merely an observer of their movements from the other side of the glass; a recipient of relaxation as a result of their languid flutterings. A particular favorite of mine was the catfish who patrolled the bottom of the tank, sucking small pieces of gravel like an aquatic hoover, his little whiskers and industriousness making him more endearing than his brightly colored companions - the neon tetras.

It is a responsibility when acquiring another living creature and I felt it keenly. I had not been as nervous as this since looking after the hermit crabs that were the class pets in my other son's Pre-Primary class in Australia some years previous. That had been the last time that I had had to take care of a creature close to being classified as a pet. Taking that tank home and knowing that I had them for two days did fill me with trepidation. What made it worse was that I was told that there were three crabs in the tank in total. Even with vigilant viewing in the classroom, I had only ever seen one. I just had to hope that I provided them/it with what they/it needed and hope for the best. Luckily, instructions were given that were not hard to follow. The crabs had an uneventful weekend at our house and were placed back in the classroom in a tank that had suffered no damage, ready for their next weekend away.

Making sure that Marshmallow had a good home with us was essential. We had to condition the water and make sure that it was the right temperature and have a pump and a light and some accessories to amuse...we had provided all of these with consideration and advice taken. Getting him in to his tank was the next step and again, I was nervous. What if there was something we had missed? What if he suffered as a result of an oversight? What if he became shocked by the change in environment? All of these things went through my mind.

We just had to take the leap.

He was, of course, fine but every time I changed his water, I did it hoping that I didn't make a mistake.

Marshmallow liked his new home. He became blacker by degrees and over time, his fins had an iridescence whose blue glimmered against his dark body, streaks flashing when the light caught it. He grew bigger and stronger and his little fins propelled him through the water in a way that I am not ashamed to describe as cute.

He was mainly my companion as when my son was at school, it was just Marshmallow and I left at home. His tank was in my son's bedroom so we had space from each other so the days weren't too intense but when I went into the room, to put away clothes or open blinds that had been left closed, I would approach the tank and call out: "Hello, fishy wish!" without fail.

If Marshmallow was not busy investigating the contents of the pirate treasure chest or barrel, he would come to the wall of the tank when he spotted me. I loved this. I would sit on the bed and have a rudimentary and very one-sided conversation with him about how his day was going and mention the weather maybe. Sometimes I would ask if he'd had enough to eat or if his water was warm enough. I took an energetic waggling of a fin and swift movement as confirmation that all was fine. My mother told me that he would come to the top of the tank, something to do with wanting food, but I like to think that he was pleased to see us too, that we were more to him than just his feeders.

It sounds bizarre but after we had Marshmallow, I never felt like I was on my own in the house after the kids had gone to school.

I miss that little fish and I know my son does too.

You'll be pleased to know that he is thriving. I get regular updates courtesy of Adam's mum. At Christmas, she sent us a photo of him in his Santa hat. He is definitely posing. He now has a friend called Gary, a snail, who helps with housekeeping. He is sometimes known as Marshy which I think he likes and he is turning a flamboyant shade of orange.

I love these updates but whenever I get one, I have mixed emotions: pleasure and a pang.

But he is in a good place and believe it or not, I think he is loved.