Mummy, why is my goldfish in the bin?

Firstly, I will apologise if you are of a weak disposition or if you are a fish fancier. No fish were deliberately harmed in the writing of this story.

Like most parents I am sure, I am bombarded constantly by one or all of my children regarding the lack of pets in our house. The debate reached a particular furore two years ago and as I was pregnant at the time, I side-stepped very nicely offering the boys a baby sister, which would be far better than any pet. (my six year old son who has an elephantine memory often reminds me of this comment and that he would rather have a hamster!)

Recently the debate began again. Now I feel at a bit of a disadvantage here. We live in town, but the boys go to school in a quaint little village. Most of their school friends live on farms or in houses with acres of garden and so they all seem to have their own private zoos.

My seven year old tried to persuade me of the merits of having some chickens. “It will wake you up earlier in the morning!”. Think he may have got muddled up on that one! “We will get free eggs!”. Not really free exactly when you have to pay for food and upkeep of said chicken! “They are so cool and cuddly”. Cuddly? Cool? Chickens? Added to there being an above average number of cats in our neighbourhood, I really couldn’t see that ending well.

Anything with fur is out as I am allergic. Anything that needs cleaning out is a no go as I have a feeling that I know who will end up doing that lovely job! My husband is ailurophobic (try saying that after two large glasses of wine) and so definitely no cats here ( I have to go and shoo them away as he is genuinely terrified).

I was starting to win the battle. With a large Pets at Home round the corner, I had convinced them that regular visits there would be just as good, when in barges the mother-in-law with her large interfering feet!

One hour out with her and back they come with a goldfish in a little bag. Apparently she couldn’t say no. Really? No bowl, no food and nothing but a little piece of plastic to transport this poor creature back to our house two hours away. The boys loved it. They called it “Flax” and they doted on it. Hours were spent tapping the tank, singing to it, talking to it and gazing lovingly as it swam mindlessly aound. Many plastic plants and toys were purchased to keep him company. His “poops” were greeted with hoots of laughter and he proved to be surprisingly calming.

One fateful Sunday, however, I made the fatal error of asking my husband to do a job with responsibility. I took the boys to my mums and asked him to clean out the fish. Big mistake.

I suppose you could call it an honest mistake, a misunderstanding. I simply said as I left :” Refill the tank with cooled boiled water.”. You can sadly imagine the rest. We returned to a rather stressed daddy and a very clean fish tank.

My seven year old called me to the tank. “Mummy, why has Flax changed colour? He’s lost his black bits”. I looked into the bowl and sure enough the goldfish looking back at me was minus his black bits. “Don’t worry, daddy must have washed the black bits of when he cleaned him out,” I reassured him.

My husband pulled me to one side. ” I don’t understand, I did what you said and the fish just floated straight to the top of the tank!”. Evidently he hadn’t heard the word “cooled” and had boiled the poor thing alive. I reassured my husband that I had the situation under control when my six year old shouted “Mummy, why is there a goldfish in the bin?”

On the bright side, my very unforgiving children have stopped nagging about a pet now. I think they assume that we can’t be trusted. When a friend came round to tea recently and asked quite innocently why we had not pets: my seven year old flashed an evil look at me and replied “Because my parents kill our pets!” I can’t imagine why he hasn’t been invited back!