Fish Saga Ends

I'm driving around in weather that is insanely cold. Without a coat. My four wheel drive is on because I'm in several inches of mud. I'm an intrepid Realtor showing property while I can't feel the tips of my fingers and my mouth is so cold I talk like I've been to a dentist who is overenthusiastic about the uses of Novacaine.

Finally I get to my car where my cell phone is sitting in the cup holder (instead of on me, much to my husband's perpetual discontent). Three missed calls, all from home. I wonder what's going on over there. I return the call, no answer. Also no answer on my husband's cell phone. No answer on my mom's cell phone (she's at my house helping hubby with the kids). Three calls to me, three calls to them. No connection.

Through more inches of mud, my back end sliding til I hit a dry spot. The phone rings and I fumble around with still icy fingers trying to open the phone and get it to my still numb face. It's my mother. "There's been an accident."

I feel the urge to vomit. "What is it???"

She launches into the tale in great, minute detail and will not be interrupted by me yelling at her "Is J okay????" I will tell you, though, that he is okay so you won't agonize over the outcome and can enjoy the story as I do now, looking back. It was not one to enjoy while it was happening.

As you know, we have been having problems with the fish, a long drawn out adventure thrust upon us by sadistic relatives. The three hardiest fish were stable and secure and looked like they might be in this relationship for the long haul. I had relaxed ever so slightly.

Their tank sat solidly on my son's dresser where I faithfully checked them each day when I got J's clothes for the day. (Left to his own devices he picks his Batman costume to wear to daycare every day.) With me being gone into the boondocks, his father sent him to his room to get his own clothes.

He pulled out one drawer. He pulled out another drawer. He pulled out a third drawer. Not being a master of physics like we grownups are, J did not realize that when one pulls out three drawers on a tall, 5-drawer dresser that the dresser will come tipping forward. Whether your four year old body is standing in front of it or not. Whether there is a really big fish tank on top of it or not.

It comes crashing down and it sends a big glass fish tank down on top of you, cracking you into your little noggin with its sharp pointy corner, followed by a big dresser landing on top of you and flattening you like a pancake.

At this point in the story, remember, my mother still hasn't told me if my son is okay or not and I'm still spinning through six inches of mud.

Finally, yes, she tells me he is fine but has a black eye. I figure he's lucky to have ANY eye and feel like killing his dad even though I know it's not his fault. But, really, who else would I kill?

The fish are another story, of course. The fish come flying out, along with many gallons of water, fish pee, and twelve tons of colored gravel. They bounce along the carpet until they skid to a stop in various places around the room with four adult feet stomping in trying to heave a dresser off my son's crumpled body.

Miraculously, they survive. The sad part of this story, I realize later, is that they can survive all that, but they cannot survive me.

My mother ends up putting them in a glass where I find them sitting on the counter when I arrive home. I call my brother who is a fish genius and beg him to take the fish home. "They cannot stand more abuse. You must save them, I'm begging you."

He arrives later to take them home, transporting them in a Ziploc bag that he stuffs into his coat pocket. I asked him if that was a bad idea, hauling them like that. He assured me they would be fine and were in more peril from the cold than anything else.

So, they have found a new home and until I am told otherwise, I'm assuming they are still safe and sound and enjoying their life with someone who does not suffer from piscean-incompetence.

Editorial note: I got email from a nice reader who informed me that it's bad for the environment to flush fish down the toilet. The proper way to dispose of fish is to bury them like you do other pets. So, now we're all a little bit smarter about fish remains.