Punish the Fish

Let me just say outright: I don't consider myself a "fish" girl.
I've always enjoyed most animals as pets. In my lifetime, I've cared for four dogs (and countless vagrant strays), seven cats, two guinea pigs, a lovebird, and a crawdad (it started as a science experiment- don't ask). I even took this love for animals so far as volunteering at a small local zoo for a summer in high school. Walking snakes and avoiding angry badgers is a grand way to spend extra time as a teen.

But never did I have an interest in owning fish- just didn't cross my mind. Now, living with my boyfriend, I also by default, live with a 10 gallon tank with six fish. They have names-- Twitchy, Whiskers, Orange Whip, Big Joe (he's the smallest in the bunch), and Mama and Papa Gup (guppies). Mama Gup had her first school of babies last week-- well, the first we're counting. She was pregnant before, but we never got to see any of the little guys because of something called fish CANNIBALISM. Much to my horror, we found out that right after giving birth the mother guppy becomes quite ravenous and proceeds to eat her young. How's that for a tasty treat? I'm sure ALL mother's of ANY species have thoughts of gnawing on their unruly children now and again. But to just go and EAT them after they've barely made it into this world? It's a little too Wild Kingdom for me in my living room.

At the thought of another litter brought into this world only to be swallowed again, Mike and I bought a mini fish tank which floats serenely inside the main tank. Once Mama Gup started looking "fishy" again (pun intended) we put her in there and sure enough, she produced about 50 babies! We fished her out of there before the smorgasbord could begin, and saved all but two or so. The excitement of seeing these little guys grow has been fun indeed, particularly with the satisfaction of knowing that we saved them from almost certain snacktime. I have grown fond of the tank, and enjoy watching their world behind glass.

Back to the title of this blog-- "Punish the Fish". This week my feelings of consternation over the fishy world were brought back by an incident involving Whiskers. Whiskers, who's considered a "community fish" at Petco (but upon further research we found can have aggressive tendencies), has taken it upon himself to thin the herd. Apparently, there's one too many fish in the tank, and Orange Whip is the crux of the problem. Orange Whip is also the largest fish in the tank, and hands-down the most docile. She's like an orange sea cow, placidly going about her fishy day, and I quite enjoy her aquatic antics.

Whiskers, on the other hand, has taken her existence as a personal affront, and started to nip her repeatedly. We came home after work a few days ago, and she was hiding in a lava rock looking stunned and nipped half to death. Her fins were holey, her tail had a chunk removed and she was breathing erratically. It only took seconds for us to see Whiskers approach her from behind, Jaws-like, to start biting her again. It was too much for us to bear. Obviously, Whiskers needed to be removed from the tank so Orange Whip could heal for a couple of days. We managed to nab him and place him in a vase my mom gave me to hold seashells, but has now become the "fish holding tank". For two days we "punished him". Don't get me wrong, he had food and plenty of warmth and swimming room. He swam recklessly, his color faded to a scary white, and he ate sporadically. We started feeling sorry for him. Last night, Orange Whip was looking better- her color was back and her spots mostly healed. She was eating lots and swimming around in the tank like she used to. Whiskers on the other hand, looked awful. We felt bad, deemed the punishment term over, and plopped him back in his home.

It took ten minutes for his color to come back, his appetite, and his bad attitude.

Damn fish.