16 July, 2011

Hopefully the last word on our pescatorial friends.

Remind me to change the blog banner.  I think I put the moz on myself by making the "it's all happening" claim, because almost as soon as I posted it, the entire House at Porter Street fell in a ginormous exhausted, uninspired heap on the floor.

[Also, my lovely brother, came from Greece for three weeks, so we were a little distracted...]

My last post was almost a month ago.  The saga of the effing fish was the last word and that drama went on and on and on.  I don't mean to sound cruel and unfeeling.  I am completely aware that their suffering was obviously a whole lot greater than mine, but I tell you, finding them gasping, or gunk covered, or sunk, or floating or whatever first thing every morning, was bloody wearing.  

Truth told, I think there was something wrong with our water.  I was putting in the requisite ager, anti fungal and anti algae treatments and water conditioner, but still, in the end, Biggest Fish went belly up.  The water was the only variable, so I'm prepared to pin the blame firmly there.

BF was followed swiftly into the cardboard coffin and shallow burial plot in the front garden, by O'Leo, O'Steo and strike me down I can't remember the name of the other one. I have been authoritatively advised, by the man at the aquarium shop, that introducing three new fish to a bowl most likely meant there was too much ammonia in the water from their waste, and they were gassed to death. 

Oh god.  Those were very dark days.

However now we are looking onwards and upwards.  Mister X has turned his back on the pearly gates and is now rehomed in a proper tank with a filter.  His outlook has been so much improved that I have been heard to declare the tank etc to be the best $88 I ever spent.  And I have no doubt he would agree.

After a week alone and doing well, we introduced Otto  ("I like him and he likes me.  I will call him Otto.")

Otto is a curious little fella.  Totally jaunty and full of fun.  But rather partial to a nap.  He takes himself off to the grotto in the artificial rock at the bottom of the tank and has a little lie down a couple of times a day.  I've never seen a fish do this before and initially it was all I could do to stop myself from prodding him with a chopstick in case he was dead.  But patience, restraint and observation have shown that he's fine - a narcoleptic - but fine.

Anyway, tomorrow we want to get another one, just to keep Mr X company during Otto's down times, and then we can finally draw a line under the fish.  Thusly:


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