1 fish, whose fish?

Our little island’s local pool hosted a holiday fundraiser carnival last night. I was hoping it was to raise money for the half-built steamroom currently filled with boxes, but I’m afraid it might have been for kickboards or other items actual swimmers use. Instead of something a stressed out parent could run to on a cold winter night.

When is there a fundraiser for the fat, lazy parents?!

Anyways, Santa came on a sleigh/canoe with swimming reindeers, all very cute. They offered games for kids, like rubber duckie races in the lazy river and bobbing for apples in the toddler pee-pee pool. Post-carnival mouthwash, not included.

But what most surprised me, as a first-timer to this event, was the fishing game, which had real fish in a separate pond (not the pool!) for kids to net. Then they handed them to the kids in baggies to take home. Try telling your kid “no fish” after she sees 42 kids in wet swimsuits running around with bags of jiggling, stressed out fish.

Thanks, pool people. Thank you SO much.
I think I can speak on behalf of most of the parents in attendance by saying: Bite Rocks.

Lest you think they were being irresponsible, the pet shop donating the fish DID include a short note of how to care for the fish you never wanted in the first place. Which described the warmth of the room (70 degrees! not so free a fish after that heating bill!) and the water, what type of fish food to use instead of crushed Wheat Thins, I guess, how many gallons the fish needs to feel happy, not including the fish therapy necessary after being terrorized at the pool carnival, all of which happens to be for sale at ………ta da, their shop!
Nice donation, eh?

So, after I put Kid to bed, I turn to my local, late night vet for advice: Dr. Googlefish. I read up on how to put a new fish in a tank. Since we have no tank, I put the fish (gradually) into a glass mixing bowl and turned out the light.

Little did I know it would be the last time I saw him alive.

What the instructional note and Dr. Googlefish failed to say was fish jump. Judging from where I found him, pretty far, too.

At least, that is what I assumed this morning when I discovered the empty bowl.

And a stiff, dead fish on the kitchen floor.

Unless the Dog sniffed out the fish and flicked it out of the bowl.

But she said she was innocent. Besides, she said, dat fish was way too small and unstinky to roll in…

Today, I can only assume there are a lot of small, dead fish on our little island. And islanders are likely having individual, yet mass, funerals everywhere. If you listen carefully you may hear the final sounds of the ceremonies:

KA-FLUSH!

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