Fish are friends, not food

I really didn't want a pet. But it's starting to grow on me.

After noticing how much our kids love watching the fish in the little aquarium at our church, we decided on a whim Sunday evening to get them a pet fish of their own to stare at. Abby could learn the responsibility of having to remember to feed a pet everyday, and both kiddos, we knew, would enjoy watching their own little fish swim around.

We arrived just as PetSmart was preparing to close and rushed through the decision-making process. (This shall be known as Mistake Number One.) Justin directed Abby to the tank of 13-cent goldfish while I scoured the store for a cheap bowl and some fish food. The knowledgeable employee that helped us tried to direct us toward a fish that would be better suited to the small bowl we had chosen, or toward a much larger and more expensive aquarium that would be better suited to the fish we had chosen. We danced around the fact that we wanted a cheap fish and a cheap bowl in case (a) our kids lost interest or (b) the thing died, as goldfish have a tendency to do.

Twelve dollars later, we left the store with two very excited kids and a feisty little goldfish that Abby dubbed "Lucy."

For the next two days our kids hovered around the fishbowl, observing Lucy as she swam, blew bubbles and pooped in her little bowl. On Monday, I asked Abby if she liked her little pet fish.

"She's pretty," Abby replied. "When do we eat her?"

I realized we had a ways to go before Abby understood this was a pet and not a future fish stick. We talked about how God made all the animals, and how God made Lucy, too, and how we had to take good care of her and be good stewards of God's creation. I pointed out that perhaps Lucy would like something to play with and swim around in her bowl, so on Tuesday we headed back to the pet store and purchased a little plastic plant and a miniature piece of the Roman Forum to decorate Lucy's living quarters. That evening we changed Lucy's water, added her new furniture to the bowl and fed her what would turn out to be her last meal.

Wednesday morning we found Lucy belly up in the bowl, a victim of improper care and lodging. Turns out goldfish need room to swim in order to stay strong. If their living arrangements are too small, they get weak and die. Lucy was interred in our downstairs bathroom, and when Abby woke up I explained that Lucy had gone to visit her other friends at the pet store. Lucky for me, all those fish look alike, so I told her we can visit Lucy anytime.

(Yes, I lied to my 2-year-old. This, to me, seemed a better option than bringing her face to face with the harsh reality that her parents can't even keep a little goldfish alive for more than two days. I'm more interested in the long-term lesson of responsibility that can be learned from rearing a fish than the short-term lesson in life and death.)

Today, we made our third trip of the week to PetSmart to purchase a more durable, more expensive Beta fish that has a better chance of survival in our tiny bowl. I let Abby pick it out again, and she explained she wanted an orange one. "Like Lucy," she said.

We picked out a fairly active orange Beta and some new fish food and made our way to the check out. Caleb insisted on tapping the little cup the fish was in over and over, which Betas apparently do not enjoy. We swung by the goldfish tanks so Abby could say goodbye to whichever fish she thought had been hers.

"Lucy's happy with all her new friends," she told me, obviously pleased that her old fish now had some playmates.

As we headed to the car, I asked Abby what she wanted to name this new fish.

"Lucy," she replied.

Here's hoping Lucy 2.0 fares better than her predecessor.