We won a goldfish last summer. You know the kind, in the little plastic bags at every carnival and fair across America. Well, actually, we won two. My son and daughter each got one. But my daughter’s fish moved on to fishie heaven relatively quickly. She was bummed when she noticed his absence….a month after the fact.
See, we weren’t exactly great fishie parents. After the novelty wore off (i.e., about three days), I was the only one who remembered to drop some flakes in the tank every now and again. And between keeping my kids and my dog alive, and making our lives run semi-smoothly, my brain possesses precious little space for goldfish maintenance.
Yet my son’s fish, which he named after his friend Logan, persisted. He just kept swimming, if you will, in the sad little plastic tank that came home with him from the fair.
Before we left for spring break this year, I successfully packed our bathing suits and phone chargers and medications. But I forgot to make arrangements for Logan. By the time I remembered him, we were already at our hotel in Marco Island, Florida (which is an amazing place, by the way! More about the trip in a later post.). I broke this news to Baylor, who hadn’t thought about poor Logan either. My son wasn’t particularly fazed, but I felt awful. Apparently, at some point in the last 9 months, I had grown attached to the little guy.
I promised Baylor (and myself) that if Logan made it through the next 8 days, I would go to PetSmart when we got home and get him a proper tank, complete with a fish castle to swim through, “and a new friend,” my daughter piped up. And a new friend.
Well, good news – Logan made it. He is now swimming happily in a new 10-gallon tank with some fishie accessories and a new fishie friend, Gracie. I talked to the employees at PetSmart and figured out how best to introduce the fish to their new environment, and I asked which products we needed. I am determined to be a better fish parent.
I have even taken to talking to Logan and Gracie sometimes as I feed them in the morning (because I am still the only one who remembers to do so). This brings my husband much amusement, and he likes to ask if I am going to have another coffee date with the fish sometime soon.
So, maybe I am nuts. But Logan is a survivor, and you have to respect that. And it makes me smile, so there you go! Cheers to Logan – may we all be a little more like him.
