Did he jump or was he pushed?

For those of you who have already read my previous blog – My Kingdom for a Rabbit – you’ll understand that I’m not the most avid pet-collector. Again, I will insist, I like pets very much, I just don’t want to own any. Not right now, anyway – we’ve only just come through the Yes, We Are 100 Percent Sure We Want No More Babies stage, so pets don’t really factor on the radar right now, especially while we’re living in Beijing.

My kids are ok about it – they pester occasionally, but generally they cope. I keep vaguely suggesting to Ella that she may one day be able to keep a rabbit (outside!) when we return home to Australia, but even then – no promises. We shall see.

So – the reason I’m bringing this up is because on Friday Riley came home with an orange goldfish clutched firmly in a suffocating plastic bag. As he and Ella clambered off the Summer Camp bus, they were both buzzing with excitement, regaling me with tales of how one of the other kids’ fish jumped from the plastic bag, and the children went into a frenzy trying to pick it up from the bus floor.

I cringed, then reassured the kids. “Those goldfish can’t jump that high,” I said, all-knowingly, “Don’t worry.”

Famous last words.

So the fish – unwanted, I might add (but who I am to quash the fun of fishing at Summer Camp?) – found a home in a very large, fat vase with pebbles in the bottom, a duck statue inside, and two pet-hungry pairs of eyes watching his every move all weekend. My husband even rode his bike to our local fish story for a good supply of dried blood worms and a mini air pump. This fish – Mr Fish – was certainly bathed in adoration but he just didn’t seem happy in that poor excuse for a home.

Last night, I talked to the kids about how nice it would be to let Mr Fish go. To make some new friends in the pond at the base of our building. Surprisingly, they were okay about it, but made me promise not to let him ago until they return from Summer Camp this afternoon.

Perfect! I thought. No more daily tank cleanings, no more disdainful glances at that miserable fish, encased in his glass prison. I was looking forward to the release with much excitement. I was going to get Ella to draw a farewell card and Riley to wave him goodbye as he plunged into the limpid deep of the fishy pool outside.

Alas, not to be. This morning I went out to a meeting and when I returned, I shot a glance at the tank to see how Mr Fish was doing.

Gone.

Gone? How? My eyes darted left and right, up to the ceiling and down again, and there he was, stiff as a board in the middle of the living room floor. His tail was even crunchy when I picked him up. It was horrible. Are these pets really worth all these potential death scenes?

So, several questions are consuming me right now. What do I tell the kids? Should I tell them it was suicide? Would it distress them? Should I tell them it was an accident? How can a fish have an accident? Should I tell them someone broke in and stole him for their own fishy collection? I’m really stumped on this one.

And the most painful question of all… why, Mr Fish? Why did you do it? Did we really make you that miserable? Did we not provide you enough? And right on the eve of your release to the wild… such a sad irony. Did you plan to do it while I was not home and could not rescue you? Why, Mr Fish? Why?

I guess honesty is the best policy. "Yes, kids, it looks like goldfish can leap." And make calculated decisions about their own fate, too. He obviously thought this through, and now I'm not so sure goldfish really do have a three-second memory.

Wish me luck with the kids. And sayonara, Mr Fish. I hope things are going swimmingly in Guppy Heaven.

In Memoriam.

Tania McCartney