Eagle Magazine

One evening I took the three older kids, Melissa, Michael, and Jonathan to Petco next to the Boise Towne Mall to get some dog food. On the way, we mused about how fun it would be to surprise William, age seven, with an early Christmas present: his very own pet. William had mentioned that he wanted a pet of his own because Melissa had Casey, her cockatiel, Jonathan had Brindle the boxer, and Michael sort of had Twinkie the poodle.

I suggested maybe getting a goldfish because of the upside that they’re only14 cents each, in spite of the downside that they don’t live very long. I reasoned that even if we had to buy a replacement goldfish every two weeks, it would only cost $3.64 per year for twenty-six fish, or less if William lost interest sooner.

We discussed just getting a barebones system: a goldfish in a jelly jar—no air-bubble pumps, no sunken pirate ships on the bottom, and no colored rocks.
At the pet store we checked out the fish section. Sure enough, there was a 55-gallon fish tank loaded with 14-cent goldfish. We asked the young clerk if she could get a goldfish and asked if putting it in a jelly jar would be okay.

“Actually,” she replied, “you need a bigger bowl for goldfish because they get bored.”

Yeah, right, I thought. What are you suggesting? We hook up a TV with cable so the goldfish can watch Flipper reruns and The Little Mermaid? And just our luck, the fish will one day lose the remote and manually turn on the TV while still in the water. He’ll be electrocuted and we’ll have a fried goldfish and a very sad William.

“How come those pretty purple fish are in those little, clear-plastic drinking cups?” I asked. “They don’t seem to be getting bored in their confined quarters.”

“Oh, they cost more than a quarter,” the clerk replied. “Those are beta fish and they don’t get bored. They do fine in small containers and they live a lot longer than goldfish, like about two years. But they cost $3.00 each.” That sounded like a reasonable investment compared to the goldfish and all the required trips back to the pet store to get replacements. “Of course,” she continued, “you need to get this plastic fish bowl with a lid because beta fish can jump out. The bowl with the lid is on special right now for $2.00.

“But,” I pointed out, “you don’t have lids on these little cups.”

“Yes, but we know how to keep the fish from jumping out.” “But…”

“Oh,” she continued, “you’ll need to get some dried blood worms to feed your beta fish. They don’t eat fish flakes.”

“How much are dried blood worms?”

“$3.50 a jar.”

“You know, my wife will love having dried blood worms in the house.”

Not responding to my comment, she deadpanned, “Do you have soft water?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll need this additive for $4.00 a bottle. Add a few drops whenever you change the water.”

“What if we just use hard water?”

“You’ll still need the additive.”

Well, to bring home a pet for William, I thought we would need 14 cents, some water, and a jelly jar. Instead, we needed a second mortgage on the house.

But it was worth it—William was ecstatic! Like Jonathan did with Brindle the boxer puppy, William wanted some private time to bond with his new fish. William affectionately named his beta fish, “Beta Lu Ross” taking the middle name from Grammy (Nancy Lu), Terri Lu, and Melissa Lu, thus making “Lu” a four generation middle name. I preferred the name, “Darth Beta” but it was William’s fish to name. So Beta Lu lived in the bathroom on the counter in her plastic fish bowl with a lid so she couldn’t jump out.

After school one day, Jonathan had a friend over to play. His friend noticed Brindle, the rambunctious boxer, mostly because she was jumping all over the friend and slobbering on him. “Oh,” he remarked, nonplused, “you’ve got a boxer.” He then asked if he could use the bathroom. When he came out, he blurted, “Wow, you guys have a beta fish!!”

Several months later we took a family trip to see family in Seattle and William had the neighbor fish-sit Beta Lu. When we returned to Eagle a week later, TerriLu and Melissa noticed that Beta Lu looked a little different. They checked with the neighbors who said that the fish had died and they felt so guilty they went to the pet store and bought a replacement. We should have told them that if the fish died, not to worry. William probably wouldn’t have noticed since TerriLu and Melissa usually changed the water once a week.

We explained to William that Beta Lu had died, which didn’t faze him in the least, and that this was a new fish, which William happily and creatively named Beta Fish II. Sadly, that year, Beta Fish II also died. The autopsy confirmed that Beta Fish II had probably been “floating” for a day before anyone noticed. William just thought the fish was doing the back float or the backstroke. Jonathan deftly commented that the fish may have been practicing the back float when he had a bad stroke.

At any rate, Beta Fish II received an honorable burial at sea. More precisely, he got flushed down the toilet. And, unlike Disney’s Nemo, he’ll never really make it out to the real sea so a nondescript septic tank in Eagle, Idaho, will have to suffice.