Things I should have realized before spending $3.69 on a fish named Prince Phillip

1. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to do one minute’s research on Betta fish, wherein we would have found out that they are indeed tropical fish, and thus they do not like temperatures under 72 degrees, even though Petco’s little sheet on them (discovered later) says they can deal with it down to 64. Tell it to the fish. It got down to 67 in the house one day (and we like it lower than that at night) and I would have sworn he shot me a look that bemoaned his inability to wear a tiny sweater.

1a. Oh, also I would have found out that contrary to all the bullshit about them liking to live in a bowl the size of a martini glass, they really do better in at least 2 gallons, preferably FIVE. Of course, we’d already rejected the tiny fish cup idea in favor of a 1 gallon fishbowl. Which doesn’t accommodate a heater because of course, you don’t need one. Also, by way of explanation, we were queried on a couple of occasions: Don’t we know where Bettas come from originally (Thailand, yes) and that they live in little mud puddles where they don’t even eat terribly often? This caused me to likewise inform said pet-store employee that this is America, and we like to live big, because really their ideology is about as sound as the notion that a guy living on Skid Row obviously prefers to be filthy and underfed because this is his naturally occurring, and therefore preferred habitat.

Unfortunately I wasn’t thinking big enough. Of course, this could be a metaphor for my entire life, and Phillip is going to single-handedly (fin-edly?) break me of the notion.

2. I have a screw loose when it comes to animals. Actually, I realized this 2 birds, 1 cat and a dog ago, but certainly if you haven’t come to the conclusion yet yourself, you will after you read the next part.

3. We don’t have enough money to keep a $3.69 fish. Because to get a heater for the little guy, we need a big enough aquarium (not some ridiculously simple bowl). I whipped out my birthday money and plunked it down on a 5 gallon tank with filtration, a real nice heater, gravel, a few plants both real and fake, and what the fuck, a zen-like meditating figure he could swim through while we were at it.

Oh, that’s not it. We need water conditioner to rid the water of chlorine and chloramines, beneficial bacteria to help with the ammonia levels, and a little siphon to go with all that so you can change the water too. It’s a regular 50 lb. chemistry assignment. Don’t think my neurotic little mind hasn’t imagined what kind of serious damage this kind of water could do during an earthquake (and that’s not counting me scrambling across the floor looking for a tiny red fish – they breathe air and if they don’t dry out, you can put them back into the (conditioned) water. Oh yeah, he’s part of the earthquake plan. I have equity in him now).

As an aside, a heater that is attached to an electrical plug that you merely plop into the water and then plug into a wall seems logically counterintuitive, but Phillip truly loves the large electrical phallus, cuddling up to it and sometimes swimming under it sideways in the tiny space between the bottom of it and the polished gravel. Total stuntman move since there’s about 1 cm clearance. It’s a balmy 75 degrees in there now. I know because we also sprung for a tiny thermometer.

4. Bettas can get a nasty bacterial infection called fin rot. It’s a bitch. When I noticed that Phillip’s delicate fins were getting ragged (is it from skidding under the heater in their new aquarium, or because the new aquarium doesn’t have enough beneficial bacteria or because of stress or uh…?) I had to diagnose, then run and buy fish antibiotics (!), then because they’re for a 10 gallon tank and we have a 5 gallon tank I have to pour out powdery fish antibiotics and divide using a knife like some kind of coke fiend, then distribute after pulling out the filter (which I’d have to replace in a few days). It clouded the water with a yellowy cast not unlike a smoggy summer day in the L.A. basin.

Then I tried not to panic because I’m starting to like the little guy, what with his spinning behind the filter in the tiny space, sleeping on the suction cups that hold it to the tank, swimming over to meet me in the morning because he knows I’ve got the icky bloodworms he loves (oh, they’re carnivores, yes!) and I’ve just spent roughly $125 so he’d better not go to fish heaven just now. He finished his treatment Sunday. I vacuumed out exactly 25% of his watery environs Monday with my handy siphon (a neat science trick, by the way), refilled the tank with conditioned, temperature-perfect water, replaced the filter, and fully realized that he’s won the fish lotto and my sanity, as usual, should be questioned under a bright light.

Stumble It!