Two Fish, One Fish

We were not pet people.

My parents likely made a conscious decision early in their relationship to be a no-pet household. And it was likely both rational and emotional. Rational: My Dad thinks pets were too much work. Emotional: My Mom has a general fear of anything non-human.

While 'a puppy' was regularly scratched on to my sister's Christmas list, I embraced my parents' logic and trepidation. 

When I went over to a friend's house, I could hear the call to 'Quick! Put Princess in the basement,' over the 'do do do do do do do' as I emerged from our Transport Van's sliding door.

I hated picking my sister up from her friend Mary's house because it perpetually smelled like cats and hermit crabs.

And the whole notion of dog's being able to smell my fear, freaked me out. I would will myself to be cool, but fell victim to relatively harmless dog attacks time and time again.  

Growing up, we did have a stint with a fresh water aquarium. In it, a couple Black Malis mated and bred dozens of baby Black Malis, which the parents proceeded to eat. Soon after they perished too and the aquarium was emptied and left idle for years. Besides that, we were a bark, scratch, hair and odor-free household. And I appreciated it.

***

If Peter had been packaged with Fido, his accessory dog, there could have been some issues. Instead, he came complete with a living, breathing salt water aquarium, several corals, a shrimp, a clam, some snails, and a little fish named Omega Supreme. He reigned over it. And it was the center piece of his stark apartment in Oak Hill. 

I thought it was cute; the fact that he had transported it in buckets from Cape Cod to Chicagoland and from there to South Bend; the pride he showed in it; and above all, his relationship with and love for his little clown fish.

Later on, I learned that having a salt water aquarium wasn't just a pet project, it was as much science as art - an intricate hobby that took time, dedication, and the utmost care. There were days dedicated to water creation, filtration, and change-out. There were gadgets that read temperatures and chemical levels. There were field trips to illusive salt water aquarium stores. And there were logs with countless entries. All in the service of bringing a little bit of the beloved Ocean into our home.

Over the six years we have been together, I have grown to love Peter's aquarium. Every week, I pray for the fishes at Church. I gladly give Peter the time and space to do aquarium maintenance whenever its inhabitants need a refreshed ecosystem. I love feeding the fish when Peter is out of town. And I love saying good morning and good night to Omega, who has been like the little third wheel in our relationship.

Oh geez, I'm going to start crying again. 

After putting Mary to bed on Tuesday night, I went down to the Man Cave to say goodnight to Peter. Passing by the aquarium, I looked to see Aquaman and Omega swimming in their own fashionable styles through the water. I saw the masked red fish, but couldn't see my little orange and black striped friend. Then I spotted him on the sand. As I had prayed that he one day would, his fish soul had gone on to fish heaven. I was crushed. But not as much as Omega's best friend.

Omega lived for eight and a half years. To give you some perspective, a clown fish in captivity has an average lifespan of three years. In the wild, it's roughly eight. That's how much Peter loved this fish and how much Omega loved his proud owner. He boasted a life that exceeded the Ocean's expectations.

There will be more fish, more crabs, and clams, and corals, but there will never be a salty swimmer like Omega. And little buddy, you will forever be missed.

Lo.