He was a beautiful betta fish with a deep blue body flowing into lighter blue fins and tail. When he first came into our home, he sat in a large bowl on the sill of our bay window. Occasionally rising gracefully to the top for a gulp of air, he seemed to enjoy gliding around his new kingdom.
The bottle of food said he needed 6-8 pellets twice a day. We were worried when he only ate a couple at a time, if at all, so we tried bloodworms. He ate a few of those, but then he stopped eating entirely. Nothing would entice him to eat.
Pretty soon he started to swim as if he were imbalanced and panicked, rocking furiously from side to side while struggling to get to the top for some air. I looked up his symptoms on the world-wide-web, and we found out that he was constipated and also had swim bladder disorder (the cause of the imbalance).
To treat him, we lowered the water level of his bowl, and I started to give him twenty-minute epsom salt "baths." We had not seen a bowel movement from him since we bought him, so we knew that his overfed, constipated state was not entirely our fault. But, the epsom salt did not seem to be helping. Soon he was spending all of his time at the top of the bowl so that he wouldn't have to travel for air.
The sources on the internet assured me that he would last two to four weeks without food and not to worry about his pathetic-looking decline until he started to lose color. They made it sound like constipation is a common and easily curable state for bettas, so we took heart and tried everything suggested.
Last night, our betta looked awful. He had gone five days without food, so we decided to try the pea method. Although I was sure he would not be interested in the mashed betta-bite-sized pea, I still tried dangling it in front of his nose, but it was as if he didn't even see it there. While we were still tying to entice him to eat the pea, he started to become unable even to control his balance while floating. Drifting to his side and sometimes dangerously toward the upside-down position, our betta struggled for his life. We knew then that he was dying before our eyes.
It seemed so sudden, and then he was gone. Our beautiful little fish -- dead and gone after only ten days with us, before we even had a chance to name him.
And so, to a nameless fish on his death, I wish to say, "I'm sorry you were sick and that we didn't catch it sooner and that we probably made it worse by feeding you those bloodworms, but we tried everything we could and hope that you are no longer suffering and have a much bigger pond to be king of wherever you may be. I cried for you, my little fish, I'm sorry."
I don't remember being so sad for the two bettas I had growing up when they died, but then, they both had long lives. This one was very sad for me. I don't think I'll be able to have another pet until we get a dog years down the road. Somehow, even though I know the fish had to have already been sick when we bought him, I feel as if when I did take him home, I became responsible for his life and I failed him. I feel guilty and irresponsible. And I don't know what to do about it. This experience has troubled me. What am I supposed to learn from this experience other than how to prevent and treat constipation in a fish?
Pretty soon he started to swim as if he were imbalanced and panicked, rocking furiously from side to side while struggling to get to the top for some air. I looked up his symptoms on the world-wide-web, and we found out that he was constipated and also had swim bladder disorder (the cause of the imbalance).
To treat him, we lowered the water level of his bowl, and I started to give him twenty-minute epsom salt "baths." We had not seen a bowel movement from him since we bought him, so we knew that his overfed, constipated state was not entirely our fault. But, the epsom salt did not seem to be helping. Soon he was spending all of his time at the top of the bowl so that he wouldn't have to travel for air.
The sources on the internet assured me that he would last two to four weeks without food and not to worry about his pathetic-looking decline until he started to lose color. They made it sound like constipation is a common and easily curable state for bettas, so we took heart and tried everything suggested.
Last night, our betta looked awful. He had gone five days without food, so we decided to try the pea method. Although I was sure he would not be interested in the mashed betta-bite-sized pea, I still tried dangling it in front of his nose, but it was as if he didn't even see it there. While we were still tying to entice him to eat the pea, he started to become unable even to control his balance while floating. Drifting to his side and sometimes dangerously toward the upside-down position, our betta struggled for his life. We knew then that he was dying before our eyes.
It seemed so sudden, and then he was gone. Our beautiful little fish -- dead and gone after only ten days with us, before we even had a chance to name him.
And so, to a nameless fish on his death, I wish to say, "I'm sorry you were sick and that we didn't catch it sooner and that we probably made it worse by feeding you those bloodworms, but we tried everything we could and hope that you are no longer suffering and have a much bigger pond to be king of wherever you may be. I cried for you, my little fish, I'm sorry."
I don't remember being so sad for the two bettas I had growing up when they died, but then, they both had long lives. This one was very sad for me. I don't think I'll be able to have another pet until we get a dog years down the road. Somehow, even though I know the fish had to have already been sick when we bought him, I feel as if when I did take him home, I became responsible for his life and I failed him. I feel guilty and irresponsible. And I don't know what to do about it. This experience has troubled me. What am I supposed to learn from this experience other than how to prevent and treat constipation in a fish?
2 comments:
I'm afraid that that's about all there is to be learned from this experience. The Old Cowboy.
My sympathies on the passing of your dear fishie. He's now in heaven, maybe passing the time with all the many fishies who have at one time lived in this room of mine: Alberto, Whitey, Percy, Penelope, Puff Puff, and two fishies that I could never keep straight on their names. Oh, and a snail, and some ghost shrimp.
Your fishie will not be lonely.
And I know he appreciates the beautiful obituary.
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