Over the past 2 years we’ve tried, largely unsuccessfully, to keep a pair of goldfish alive. We’ve had big ones, small ones, orange ones, and most recently, black ones. All have come to a sad end, lolling on their sides at the bottom of the fish bowl.
At first we thought we were over-feeding them. So then we tried feeding them less. End result? They still died!
We cleaned their water regularly, we added the magic ‘goldfish drops’ to make them shiny, or golden, or something like that. We tried with pond weed… and without. Small coloured stones. Big coloured stones. We even tried talking to them. Frankly, they just weren’t interested.
We’d started to run out of names for all these damn fish, and even their demise was no longer a big deal. Whereas once we used to perform solemn burials in the garden, even the big brother is now content to wrap up the corpse in kitchen roll and stick it in the bin.
I hadn’t mentioned getting any more fish in the hope that no one would notice we were a pet-free household.
And then it was Father’s Day.
And the big brother became utterly convinced that what Daddy REALLY wanted was not a mug, or a pair of socks, or a lifetime supply of Wispa bars; but a tortoise.
And for reasons largely unknown to me at this moment, I gave in to him.
So now we have Tottie (!) the Tortoise.
And so far, she’s still breathing.
I’ll keep you posted.