I have met my match.

I’ve successfully owned cats and birds, taken care of ladybugs and butterflies, and volunteered as a dog walker at an animal shelter.

But, our fish are making me question my pet-owning abilities.

In college, my roommates and I had a Beta fish. Three girls were never more likely to kill a fish, with our irresponsibility and penchant for cheap wine. And, yet, Scoopy lived on, unfazed that we had no idea what we were doing.

And, so, when I got the big idea that owning fish would be good for the kids, I thought back to those days of wine and laughter and figured, “eh, how hard can it be?” Someone should have warned me. I now feel like I should have taken a course in Chemistry 101, bought stock in a pet store and hired a part-time fish-ologist to take care of our three Molly fish (named Molly (natch), Speedy and Orange-y).

After a dizzying few weeks of water changes and testing, I finally got the tank ‘in balance’ with the perfect blend of bacteria. Then, even though all three fish were supposed to be girls, babies were born. We got excited until the next morning when the babies were gone, probably now in the bellies of the fish.

The first to die (after the babies) were Molly and Orange-y. I scooped them out of the tank and buried them under the bird feeder.

Speedy is still hanging in there although she doesn’t look good. I continue to retest the water, making changes and cleaning when needed, but my heart is no longer into it. “Speedy”, I think, “just give up so I can put this whole failed experiment behind me”.

Who knew that it would be fish (fish!) that would be my most difficult pet.

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