The Landlubber's Guide to Aquatics

It always seems like such a good idea at the time- something simple, easy to take care of, and fun to appreciate. I am of course talking about that great American past time of fish keeping. Goldfish have always been the amateur hobbyist's leaping point. (much to the dismay of all goldfish kind...) So inexpensive that all you really need is a mason jar and ten cents you dug out of the couch cushions. You simply transport the little guy home in his baggie and toss him in some sort of fluid, (water preferably....although in my experience if you get the "bullet-proof" variety 2% milk works just well.) and then watch him swim.

Conceptually speaking, you can hardly get more simple than this, and maybe for some of you the same thing holds true in practice, however, I have never been this lucky. My experiences in fish keeping have been strange, rarely textbook, and probably more closely related to an underwater rendition of Days of Our Lives.

I am Laura, an Amateur fish keeper, and here is my story....

My saga begins some six years ago with two miss-matched foster-fish I inherited from my niece Hannah, who, with help from her cousin Alex, attempted to feed the pair of them blue play-doh. The fish observed this with wide eyes (possibly due to fear, although they observe everything with wide eyes because the don't really have any eyelids) and gaping mouths. Thankfully it wasn't the end for theses two poisoned amigos, and when my sister Kris arrived on the scene to see two guilty looking children with blue fingers and no writing on the walls, she knew something was amiss. she deftly rescued the fish, who were originally named Ernie and Bert, but soon both became known as 'Clay', and sent them to live at my house. Mom was not really thrilled with this arrangement, but Dad and I couldn't be happier. I think it was alway's Kris's intention to eventually take the fish back, although that arrangement was soon forgotten.

these fish were hardly grateful for being rescued, and indeed probably not even aware that they had been pulled back from the brink at all. they just continued to swim around staring wide eyed and open mouthed into space, contemplating whatever it is that fish contemplate (probably just fantasizing about learning how to grow teeth and lungs so they would be able to raid the refrigerator...) for days on end. their lack of real activity did not put us off however, and within the week dad and I had bought them a fancy foliage print background, and taped it to the back side of the tank, so that they would feel as if they were at home ....in the Congo. they swam around with what Dad and I imagined to be looks of great fishy delight, although, truth be told fishy delight looks very similar to fishy indifference. From this initial purchase, there began this gradual shift towards obsession at our house. soon we had turned their humble tank into a guady fish paradise, complete with natural river stone, three different filtration systems, a greenhouse full of plastic plant life, rock caves, and no fishing signs. The ambiance created by the lighting system was such that at night we had to unplug it so it would not disturb the neighbors. It was a great Tank.

Then, we bought a new tank. Suddenly we had doubled our fish keeping capacity, and we now had twenty gallons of aquatic euphoria. When we released clay and clay into their new home their reaction was wide-eyed open mouthed amazement, or possibly shock, or possibly depression, or possibly just '....huh?'. nevertheless, our spirits where not dampened and it became clear to us that we could now expand our population. So, we immediately rushed to the largest aquatic pets store we could find. As soon as we walked through the door we knew we had come to the right place. the air was foggy, and you felt as if you needed gills or a wet suit to be allowed in. we looked at the myriad of creatures floating around looking at us with wide eyes and in the end ended up purchasing a grand total of eight new additions to our tank (much like Noah's ark, nothing could be without a mate.) when we got home, we tossed four more goldfish into the tank, two fiddler crabs, and two African clawed frogs. The frogs kicked their way around the tank, and the crabs scuttled, and the fish looked at us with wide eyes and open mouths, and our tank was spectacular....for the short while it lasted.

you see in our great hurry to buy all these creatures we forgot ask if they were compatible with each other. two days after our masterpiece of a tank began, we noticed that two of our fancy new goldfish had vanished. At first we thought that they were hiding....until we saw th lonely fin lying at the bottom of the tank. It was clearly a homicide, but we couldn't be sure who had done it. was it the jealous rage of the two clays, who loathed sharing their water, and the lime light with the newcomers? or was it the hungry frogs with their big smiles and quick legs? or was it the crabs, who were clearly irritated with the antics of the fish swimming directly overhead? we'll find out in the next post....my hands are tired.

Breeding program? No, I just let her out of the truck at Westminster....

I turned on the television this morning, and was delightfully surprised to find that there was a televised broadcast of the Westminster Kennel Club's annual Dog show. As most of you know, Animals are kind of my "thing", so it's not really all that surprising that this made me unreasonably happy. Some of you (and when I say some I mean all of you) probably have never had the opportunity (or possibly stomach)to watch the Westminster. Which is probably fine, and I’m sure you are not missing out on any great life fulfilling experience here, but just so we are on the same page, I will describe it to you. Basically when you watch a dog show, you are simply watching a slow moving carousel of various dog breeds that you’ve never even heard of, (or breeds that you personally have owned in some fashion, although the dog you had looked more similar to an ungroomed yak then what they claim your breed to is supposed to look like) trailed by a much less attractive handler, usually wearing shoes that look as though they came straight out of the “As Seen on T.V.” catalog. These dogs are all EXTREMELY obedient and never once try to sniff the various ‘target’ regions of the other dogs or handlers in the ring with them. In my professional opinion (I, being a person who has known a dog or two) this is nothing short of a miracle. The dogs are so CLEAN!! These are the kind of dogs that would not even consider sitting on one of our couches for fear of getting people hair on THEIR coats… in fact I think these dogs, in addition to eating better than you or I do, probably earn more money as well. It’s a ruff life.

Anyway, this got me thinking about all of the real life dogs I know (and own). Just the Idea of any of them standing in a ring beside any of the Westminster dogs is not only laughable, but probably outlawed in many countries. This is why I think that what we need is a new division in the Westminster show, and we’d call it….drum roll please….the farm dog division! Basically it would be a division for all of the “other” dogs of the world, open to all those “mystery” breeds, whose origins we are AT MOST, only fifty percent sure about.. although exceptions would be made for purebred freaks. This category will be for the real dogs we know, and mostly love, who are usually naughty, smell like a fine aged dead thing, and really, are just downright vulgar. We need to show the world just how good for nothing our dogs really are…not just for us, but for our neighbors, who keep threatening to shoot them if they turn up on their property again. It’s not fair that we only recognize dogs that are pretty and well mannered, we need to give the world something to compare with.

The class would have this wonderful “come as you are” feel to it, and nobody would be embarrassed by the actions of their dog, because these actions would be rewarded with points! In fact, points would also be GIVEN for awful crimes of smell committed by your dog. Dogs would be encouraged to do as they usually do back home with regards to methods of greeting. Collars and leashes are frowned upon in this division, for two reasons; 1. They may cover any point earning poop stains, and 2. They are restricting, and may enhance the dogs looks. A single class could last as long as three days after the judging is complete, because none of the dogs have names that are not at least partially profane, and also none of them would have a collar on. In the end, the ring would just be this mass of handlers diving at their respective animals, while the crowed “Oooo’s” and “ahh’s”… it’ll be a real spectator sport.

So everybody bring your champions, and lets show the world what a real dog is.

Welcome to Anatomy- Clothes are optional.

So I don't have a whole lot of time to post today because I am very busy pursuing my education, broadening my horizons, giving myself hope for a financially stable future, and mentally preparing myself to dissect a sheep brain without gloves. To me this is only slightly less appetizing than it sounds. the instructor, a loud woman lacking in both people skills and hygiene habits (there may be a correlation here..), is big on this really vague concept she calls, "getting IN to Anatomy". All this time I was thinking that she intended us to develop a passion for the subject, but it turns out that all this means is that I have to stick my bare hand into a sheep brain for two hours.

I'm not thrilled by this. I'm going to do it, if only to have an impressive story to tell my friends. this being said however, I may never be able to use my hands to eat again. Up until this moment, I had never considered sheep to be my enemy. In fact I had always regarded them with a certain amount of indifference. to me once they grew into their wobbly little knees they were suddenly just walking pillows that tended to collect poop on their fur.I rarely imagined them without their fur on, and NEVER without their skins on. But now I find myself in a bizarre situation. Laura vs. the yucky sheep brain. I'm not going down with out a fight.... but no gloves?? seriously..*hrpp*.......I'm sorry I just gagged a little.

Tah-DAH!

Mark your calenders everyone, because this is a historic day. This Is the day that I, Laura, got a blog. Years from now you will be able to tell your children that you read this blog before it became famous, before it was a bestseller, before it won the Nobel Peace Prize, Before it Cured cancer (and also The Beegee's), and more importantly, before anyone else. oddly enough though, my sources inform me that at least 55% of you will not be surprised by the amazing-ness of this blog, because a whoping 50% of you are either A.)not reading this, or B.) My Mother...and even possibly C.) all of the above.

Right now you may be asking yourself, "Who are your sources, and why they are they so bad at math?" and that my friend, (and also mother) is a very good question, which I will try to answer as comprehensively as possible. When I am stuck in a delicate situation wherein I need to know certain things that I do not actually know, I try, wherever possible, to think of something that sounds likely and say that thing. As foolproof as this seems, it turns out that I am really bad at math. Evidence of this can be found on any report card from my k-12 'experience'. on Nearly every one, next to my feeble Math score there will be a note, " I only passed her because she figured out how to spell "hOSE" with a calculator."

that's it.

My very first blog entry.