Ernesto
In 1998 at a Walmart in
Jackson CA I bought a goldfish for $0.12. I figured we would at least have a few good months
together that would consist of a little tank cleaning, fish food feeding and general debauchery, but
our relationship, like any other relationship you would have with a
fish, would be short-lived.
Little did I know that I would be spending over a decade with my little friend, Ernesto.
When I bought him, Ernesto was less than an inch long and completely white aside from a splotch of orange atop his tiny head. When I first brought him home, he had a modest dwelling, perfect size for one tiny goldfish. Red rocks covered the bottom of his bowl and a viney water plant floated freely about in the water. He had everything a fish needed, really. But, after a few weeks he seemed lonely so I bought him a friend and a larger bowl. Bruce was a bit bigger and completely orange. He moved in and it seemed that the two were getting along well. They split household chores. Bruce knew it was unacceptable to poop when company was around and so on. Three days later, Bruce was belly up.
Okay. Maybe it was wrong of me to assume that Ernesto enjoyed the company of men and was requesting a "hetero" kind of living arrangement. Fair enough. So for my birthday my sister gave me Francette. A pretty little goldfish whose scales were pink. Things seemed to be going well once again. Problem solved; Ernesto was not gay. But the love story that would be Ernesto and Francette was over before it started and she suffered the same fate as Bruce and was dead within days. This was around the time that Ernesto was given a new nickname "Ernesto the Jackal: Night Killer."
Fine, he wants to live a life of solitude. I can respect that. And so the years went on. He and my other aquatic companion, Jacques, an African Water frog who lives for 7 years, came with me to college. (Each absolutely in his own respective tanks, mind you. There would be no more night murders on my watch.) And I drove them to and from Sacramento, where I attended college, and the Bay Area for holidays and long weekends home. I would place their tanks in an upside down box lid, pack socks and shirts around the them to avoid shifting and cover the tops of the tanks in plastic wrap to prevent water loss. The box sat on the floor of the front passenger seat of my 1982 Chevy Nova hatchback where there was very little protection between the wheel hub and the floor of the car. I was always nervous about what the effects of the noise and the vibrations would be on delicate fish ears, but it didn't seem to bother him one bit.
Also, do fish have ears?
When Jaques passed away I thought that for sure Ernesto was right behind him. It is not like I wished death upon him. I would've been devastated if he died but I knew that 7 years was a long time for a fish. Jesus, 7 days is a long time for most goldfish! But Ernesto pushed on. Often times, people didn't believe that he could possibly be the same fish. This had become increasingly hard to prove since his all white body with the orange splotch on his head had now changed to an all orange body with not a speck of white to be found. But I swear to you, it was same Ernesto.
So how did I do it? How did I keep him alive all this time? I am almost embarrassed to admit it.
I cleaned his tank less than often and by that I mean once every 2 months...if he was lucky. Also, I have never used tap water that I then fortified with some kind of bottled dechlorinator. The only kind of water that my fish's scales have ever touched was Arrowhead Mountain Spring Water. Was this the spa treatment for a fish? Was I spoiling him? More importantly, was this even necessary? Frankly, I don't know and I don't care. It worked. Admittedly, laziness played a big part in the infrequency of the tank cleanings. But the real reason is I never wanted to do anything that would upset the environment. Once the algae started to grow, thick and slimy on the side of the tank, I started to worry that he may have now adapted to this type of environment and changing the water and scrubbing the glass back to crystal clear would somehow shock the little guy's clearly aging body. But once it reached the point of not being able to see inside the tank anymore, (or company was coming) I knew the cleaning had to happen. I felt bad about my sometimes lack of interest in the cleanliness of the tank, but I was doing something right. In fact, I was a good fish mom. We had made it though thick and thin. Countless miles back and forth up I-80 on the floor of my car, 2 murders, and even a short bout of skin ulcers that was cleared up with an antiseptic additive that I added to the water daily. I thought for sure that the ulcers would do him in but he came through with flying (or swimming) colors. No one could believe that he had made it this long. Around the time Ernesto was 6 years old, I decided to set a goal for our relationship. I hoped that he would live to 10 years old, or live to meet my first child. Which ever came first. In July 2008, Ernesto hit his first milestone. He made it to the 10 year mark. I was proud of him and it was really all I could ask of him. But then, in March of 2010 he met the second goal and helped us welcome Charlie home. Such a trooper.
It may seem silly that I completely broke down in tears when I walked up to his tank last night to see that he had passed away. But he has literally been a part of my life for almost half of my life. I have known Ernesto almost as long as I've known my husband. And he knew me. I know this because he always got excited when it was time to be fed and would swim over to the side of the bowl wagging his little fish fins in anticipation of the flakes. Earlier that day, Charlie was feeding him and he sat in my lap and we looked in the tank together and Charlie said, "Hi Ernesto! Come and get some lunch!" I am so glad to have had that moment with him and Charlie.
I have to giggle a little today when I think about what I said to Grant when I found him floating lifeless in the tank. "What do you think happened??" I asked.
Grant placed his hand on my back and said, "Well, honey. He's a goldfish...and he was 13 years old."
Thirteen great years.
.JPG)
Little did I know that I would be spending over a decade with my little friend, Ernesto.
When I bought him, Ernesto was less than an inch long and completely white aside from a splotch of orange atop his tiny head. When I first brought him home, he had a modest dwelling, perfect size for one tiny goldfish. Red rocks covered the bottom of his bowl and a viney water plant floated freely about in the water. He had everything a fish needed, really. But, after a few weeks he seemed lonely so I bought him a friend and a larger bowl. Bruce was a bit bigger and completely orange. He moved in and it seemed that the two were getting along well. They split household chores. Bruce knew it was unacceptable to poop when company was around and so on. Three days later, Bruce was belly up.
Okay. Maybe it was wrong of me to assume that Ernesto enjoyed the company of men and was requesting a "hetero" kind of living arrangement. Fair enough. So for my birthday my sister gave me Francette. A pretty little goldfish whose scales were pink. Things seemed to be going well once again. Problem solved; Ernesto was not gay. But the love story that would be Ernesto and Francette was over before it started and she suffered the same fate as Bruce and was dead within days. This was around the time that Ernesto was given a new nickname "Ernesto the Jackal: Night Killer."
Fine, he wants to live a life of solitude. I can respect that. And so the years went on. He and my other aquatic companion, Jacques, an African Water frog who lives for 7 years, came with me to college. (Each absolutely in his own respective tanks, mind you. There would be no more night murders on my watch.) And I drove them to and from Sacramento, where I attended college, and the Bay Area for holidays and long weekends home. I would place their tanks in an upside down box lid, pack socks and shirts around the them to avoid shifting and cover the tops of the tanks in plastic wrap to prevent water loss. The box sat on the floor of the front passenger seat of my 1982 Chevy Nova hatchback where there was very little protection between the wheel hub and the floor of the car. I was always nervous about what the effects of the noise and the vibrations would be on delicate fish ears, but it didn't seem to bother him one bit.
Also, do fish have ears?
When Jaques passed away I thought that for sure Ernesto was right behind him. It is not like I wished death upon him. I would've been devastated if he died but I knew that 7 years was a long time for a fish. Jesus, 7 days is a long time for most goldfish! But Ernesto pushed on. Often times, people didn't believe that he could possibly be the same fish. This had become increasingly hard to prove since his all white body with the orange splotch on his head had now changed to an all orange body with not a speck of white to be found. But I swear to you, it was same Ernesto.
So how did I do it? How did I keep him alive all this time? I am almost embarrassed to admit it.
I cleaned his tank less than often and by that I mean once every 2 months...if he was lucky. Also, I have never used tap water that I then fortified with some kind of bottled dechlorinator. The only kind of water that my fish's scales have ever touched was Arrowhead Mountain Spring Water. Was this the spa treatment for a fish? Was I spoiling him? More importantly, was this even necessary? Frankly, I don't know and I don't care. It worked. Admittedly, laziness played a big part in the infrequency of the tank cleanings. But the real reason is I never wanted to do anything that would upset the environment. Once the algae started to grow, thick and slimy on the side of the tank, I started to worry that he may have now adapted to this type of environment and changing the water and scrubbing the glass back to crystal clear would somehow shock the little guy's clearly aging body. But once it reached the point of not being able to see inside the tank anymore, (or company was coming) I knew the cleaning had to happen. I felt bad about my sometimes lack of interest in the cleanliness of the tank, but I was doing something right. In fact, I was a good fish mom. We had made it though thick and thin. Countless miles back and forth up I-80 on the floor of my car, 2 murders, and even a short bout of skin ulcers that was cleared up with an antiseptic additive that I added to the water daily. I thought for sure that the ulcers would do him in but he came through with flying (or swimming) colors. No one could believe that he had made it this long. Around the time Ernesto was 6 years old, I decided to set a goal for our relationship. I hoped that he would live to 10 years old, or live to meet my first child. Which ever came first. In July 2008, Ernesto hit his first milestone. He made it to the 10 year mark. I was proud of him and it was really all I could ask of him. But then, in March of 2010 he met the second goal and helped us welcome Charlie home. Such a trooper.
It may seem silly that I completely broke down in tears when I walked up to his tank last night to see that he had passed away. But he has literally been a part of my life for almost half of my life. I have known Ernesto almost as long as I've known my husband. And he knew me. I know this because he always got excited when it was time to be fed and would swim over to the side of the bowl wagging his little fish fins in anticipation of the flakes. Earlier that day, Charlie was feeding him and he sat in my lap and we looked in the tank together and Charlie said, "Hi Ernesto! Come and get some lunch!" I am so glad to have had that moment with him and Charlie.
I have to giggle a little today when I think about what I said to Grant when I found him floating lifeless in the tank. "What do you think happened??" I asked.
Grant placed his hand on my back and said, "Well, honey. He's a goldfish...and he was 13 years old."
Thirteen great years.
.JPG)
Ernesto
July 1998 - June 2012
Rest in peace, little buddy.
2 comments:
Beautiful eulogy. It's incredible that a Walmart fish could survive happily for so long. Gill had a goldfish that lived long enough to have cataracts. My sweet dad would clean the tank after my sister had long moved out of the house. It was a little sad when the fish finally passed away, and there was an empty spot on the hearth where his tank once was. He and Ernesto are probably swimming together in fish heaven!
Thanks Melia! I really did love the little guy. But I am glad it was fast and Charlie and I got to spend that special little time with him the day he died. And the bright side is now I get to go get a new fish WITH Charlie. He is gonna love that! (When I am done mourning, of course. :)
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