Eventually, I was going to have to make a decision. I'd been putting it off, hoping it would take care of itself. Deep down, I knew progress could only come of my hand. The options were...fairly direct I suppose, but I couldn't help feeling that there must've been an easier, happier route to go than the ones in plain sight. The reality of the situation finally sunk in, and I realized that this was no longer something I could field at my leisure. I'd let things go for too long -- let them grow too out of control. No, now was the time to do something about it. I had to make the decision. Do I clean the fish tank, or just get the fuck rid of it because it's ecto green and an artistic blight on an otherwise presentable living room...
Now keep in mind, I wouldn't let this tank continue evaporating its liquid plague unless I had a very good reason. There's a fish in there. Actually, there's a few fish in there, but the one I'm specifically referring to is alive. All of his friends have long gone, whether from a mysterious fish disease or because the remaining monster ate them. The surviving fish is a Pacu, which is very similar to a piranha, except with blunter teeth. I bought it because it looked menacing, but the guy at the pet store assured me that he could do no real harm. It seemed like a perfect fish at the time. I always wanted one that looked like a killer, but I definitely didn't want all of my other fish getting bitten in half. Sounded like a match made in heaven, but this fish -- this Pacu -- he's straight from Hell.
One by one, Mr. Pacu tore apart our other fish. A giant pleco, which cost more than I'd be willing to spend on even the most necessary dental surgery, gone. Two lovely parrot fish, one red, one yellow - gone. All of the others? Gone. I became so disgusted with what this evil Pacu had done that I gave up on the tank altogether. I sought to serve as an avenger to these lost fishy souls. I wasn't going to outright kill Mr. Pacu, but I wasn't about to take any measures to extend his life, either. Over time, the tank water level decreased to almost 50% of what it once was. The color of the water has gone from almost-clear to almost-jade, and while our view has been obstructed, I can see enough to tell that Mr. Pacu still lives on.
Finally, I gave up. The Pacu had won. I didn't have the balls to kill him, and at the same time, I could no longer deal with having a 50-gallon pool of sewage acting as eye candy for anyone sitting on the living room couch. I accepted my defeat with as much grace as I could muster, and made my decision. I'd have to clean the fish tank.
Or would I?
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The true start to any tank-cleaning quest begins at Petland. Our Petland lacked the cleanliness and the helpful employees of the more privately owned pet stores in town, but dammit, it's part of a franchise. A franchise wouldn't steer me wrong. So I waltzed on in, and after browsing the various bottles and goblets full of magical tank-cleaning liquid, I couldn't help wandering over to homes of many fishies just waiting to be adopted.
They were marvelous. Goldfish! Iridescent sharks! Neons! So many wonderful fish! I felt my eyes grow misty, which would've been part of a pretty serious sentimental moment if it wasn't because of the not-so-faint, saturating odor of animal urine. I wanted to buy a fish - no, I needed to buy a fish. But how could I? Even if I could get my tank to an acceptably clean level, Mr. Pacu was just gonna eat his new roommate anyway. There wasn't any way around it. I didn't have enough cash to buy a fish capable to taking on Mr. Pacu, so what could I do? Guess I'd just have to skip the new fish, and any future potential fish as well. Mr. Pacu seemed to be around for the long haul, and as much as I hated the thing, it looked like he and I were destined for a lifetime without any other fishy friends.
I consigned myself to cleaning his stupid tank, and prepared to walk away from what should've been a pet-buying experience heartfelt enough to make religious statues cry holy blood. I felt beaten. Mr. Pacu - a 10.00 fish - proved more of a challenge than I could overcome. That's pretty depressing. Just when my faith was about to close up shop forever, I saw a sign. Not a figurative sign - there were no beams of light, or heavenly interventions or anything like that. I really saw a sign. This sign...
Why didn't I think of that? A betta! The Siamese Fighting Fish! A creature able to sustain life by breathing both water and air! No, really! Sure, I couldn't put ol' Siamesie in the tank with Mr. Pacu, but I didn't need to! A betta's biggest selling point is its ability to survive in the most cramped, tiniest tank you can find. If I really wanted to, I could make Siamesie live in a drinking glass with no problems at all. But it's even better than that: Petland was selling full-fledged Betta kits for under ten bucks which came with everything I needed - the fish, the food, the gravel, the ornary plastic plant, and even the tank! Ohhh, to what white wizard do I owe thanks? This special offer answered all my prayers and then some. Screw you, Mr. Pacu. Suffer in your pit of algae-ridden despair. I'm going home with a new fish, and you can't do anything about it. You can't even eat him! Nyah nyah nyah. The only thing left to do was choose my new betta. Decisions, decisions...
While both sexes of the betta are commonly sold in pet stores, it's the males who are more usually sought out. With trailing fins and almost impossible patterns of color, these 'Siamese Fighting Fish' have long been a staple in any beginner's home aquarium. Their beauty mixed with an impressive amount of durability is helping them quickly replace the goldfish as our #1 aqua pal, and if you're the type who just wants an unfiltered bowl instead of a traditional tank, there's no better choice than a betta. Even if kept in the smallest home with a limited amount of oxygen in the water, the betta can survive by rising to the surface and - literally - gulping for air. Few fish are equipped with such safety measures, and even fewer enjoy the kind of mystique attached to the betta family.
The whole 'fighting fish' moniker stems from the boy betta's natural inclination to attack and kill any other males it comes across, whether to ward off potential mate-stealers, or merely to protect its territory. It's never an exact science, but if two males and a female are being housed together, it's a safe bet that someone in the trio will soon be floating on the surface with their face bitten off. So territorial are these animals that the male will actually kill the females. Complicating matters is the betta's docile nature when left alone or with other types of fish. For all of these reasons and more, two Siamese Fighting Fish should never be housed in the same tank unless you're a sick fuck who gets off on watching poor freshwater fish bite each other's eyes off. I'm not saying there isn't some level of intrigue there, but it's still a pretty rotten thing to do. At least, that's what the guy in Petland told me. He wouldn't lie - he's employed by a franchise.
For whatever reason, this particular Petland only had two Fighting Fish to choose from. The one shown on the right up above reflects the traditional male betta - richly colored, full fins, a slight air of superiority. These fish come in all sorts of colors, but the most popular are either bright red or dark blue. The one shown on the left is a rarer example - palely colored and partly albino. The blue betta was obviously prettier, and assumedly in a better state of health. Still, I couldn't get past the idea that I was Charlie Brown sent out to fetch a Christmas tree. I knew what they wanted, but maybe they didn't know what they really wanted. The blue fish was a Douglas Fir worth chopping down, but something about that other fish fascinated me.
Maybe it was his sad, gaunt appearance. Maybe I just pitied him. The other fishie was clearly the better choice, but something about this freak betta had a lot of magnetism. He was a -- eh, forget this. I can't lie to you any longer. I didn't pick this fish because of any good or just reason. He was going crazy in his tank, dashing around in what I considered either a pre-death dance ritual or the aftereffects of eating poison. The fish was disturbed, and the sight of my hand seemed to drive him into a frenzy of fright and confusion. Frankly, seeing how this fish reacted to being torn out of the tank and thrown into a plastic bag seemed well worth the money spent.
I had visions of him trying to voice his malcontent, only to become frustrated since he can't speak. I pictured him in all of his rage, turning around briefly before presenting a crudely drawn sign reading: "I HATE THIS BAG." I'm sure I wouldn't have known where Siamesie got the paper and pen, but I'd overlook all of that because a damn fish just wrote a letter to me.
Unfortunately, Siamesie did none of these things. His reaction could be duplicated by surprising someone with a new sock. Didn't care one bit. Suddenly I realized that my fish choice may have been a mistake. Here I had a gorgeous blue wonder just waiting to come home to make Mr. Pacu jealous, and I passed him up for this? A fish so haggard looking that I actually went back into the store two minutes later to retrieve the receipt because I was that sure the thing would be dead in a week and I'd need to seek out the guaranteed refund offer? I skipped Blue Billy for this piece of shit fish? Pretty soon, Mr. Pacu didn't seem so bad after all.
The pet boy/checkout guy took around a half hour to get all the pieces of the kit together, as I stood by the register holding a bag full of dirty water and a sick fish. Weeks and months seemed to go by, and there was still no sign of a returning Petland employee. I grew weak and weary, my bones becoming akin to the cartilage of a shark. Siamesie was shooting me dirty looks, and negotiating his fins and fans in such a deliberate way that I was absolutely positive he was trying to give me the fish version of the middle finger.
I had just about lost hope. Thank God there was a box of Beefeaters 'Pig Ear' on the nearby shelf to restore my faith in humanity, complete with a picture of a Labrador wearing a chef's hat. If I didn't see that, there's a good chance I would've stuck my head in one of the bigger tanks to drown myself right then and there. Finally, the stupid kid returned with all the kit parts, and I was off to halfheartedly make a home for a new fish I only had halfhearted interest in keeping alive.
The kit's primary ingredients were a small plastic tank, a fake plant, gravel, and a tiny package of fish food clearly marked 'sample' just so you were sure Petland had gotten the better of you. Not pictured is a bottle of some kind of goop that dechlorinates the tank. I have the worst luck with fish medicine, so I'd rather try keeping the water free of grime naturally than risk accidentally squirting 50 death drops in again. Just because I wasn't completely sold on my new fish didn't mean that I had to poison it to death. Doesn't matter anyway - if I was going to kill Siamesie, I'd just feed it to the Pacu. That's way more fun to watch than a boring poison overdose.
The directions said that I had to rinse everything but the food, and after doing so, I was ready to put Siamesie in the tank. They always say to wait fifteen minutes to let the water settle, but really, who does that?
Once Siamesie was placed into his new home, something changed. I looked at this fish, and no longer saw the nigh-death creature of torment that once swam before me. Siamesie's colors seemed to become enhanced, and his former haphazard dashing became replaced by a more soothing, flowing paddle. Now a mixture of brilliant reds and boastful blues, Siamesie was a sight to behold. He glanced to me almost apologetically - I knew that he was sorry about his previous demeanor. I felt that we were about to take a long journey - strange, but somehow great. I got so caught up in the moment that all I could think about was making the fish feel even more at home, so I decided that it was time to feed the little guy.
While the small bag of sample food would've been adequate, it had gotten ripped open and soaked when I was rinsing all the other kit parts. Fortunately, Petland had included another type of betta food, in a larger package. This new food was thicker, and came in a swank vial that could easily be reused to sneak drugs into preschools at a later date. I wasn't sure what it was when the Petland Guy put it in the bag, but if the size was any indication, Siamesie was in for a real treat.
Then I got a better look at the stuff, and had a little concern over the dubious title printed atop the food's blistercard: FREEZE DRIED BLOODWORMS.
I hate worms. Really, I do. They're revolting. They disgust me. A slimy, icky worm on the ground after rainfall is my personal Hell. I couldn't handle the thought of worms - even freeze-dried worms - being allowed to live in my house. It made me want to cover my body with anti-radiation tarp and sleep in the car. I felt cheated. Here I had made amends with Siamesie, learning to accept and respect him, and now everything's going to be ruined by a vial of bloodworms? I made a conscious decision to stomach my grievances, if only to maintain the perfect relationship I had achieved with my Siamese Fighting Fish. Go on, boy. Eat your worms.
For those of you considering keeping a betta as a pet, let me break it down. The fish themselves usually cost in the realm of three bucks, but most stores sell kits so you can get everything you need at a subsidized price. They're extremely easy to take care of, assuming you won't mind changing the water every few days and arranging for the monster to get fed every now and again. Plus, when the fish dies, he's easy to replace! If you're trying to buy your kid a new pet before they notice that the old one's dead, finding a duplicate of a betta is much easier than say, finding a duplicate for a four-year-old miniature Doberman.
Overall Score: 7 out of 10. They're neat, but the novelty kind of wears off after a day or two. This would explain why I can't truthfully tell you if Siamesie is still alive or not. I kid, he's fine. I think I saw him moving around last Friday. Take that, Mr. Pacu.
