We left this fish story with our multiple cold-blooded vertebrates enjoying their new home, a hand-built pond with a 4 foot waterfall, developed with loving care, lots of money and more than a little of J.J.’s blood. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go back and read the other episodes regarding this major contribution made to our household by our thoughtful children.
The pond was a great success. Well, maybe not great, but at least it worked! I did install some lighting as Blue-eyes had suggested. I even put in a timer so that the waterfall would commence cascading at appropriate intervals. The downside to this pond was I could no longer turn on the “1812 overture” and watch the fish go nuts. I checked around for an underwater speaker system – they actually exist – but gave up on that idea when I saw what some of the prices were. Besides that, I was having a tough time explaining to the salespeople that I was involved in a program of music appreciation for my goldfish. The local pet store was no help whatsoever, and told me they were tempted call the Pisces police.
One of the fish, which I had named “Deliverance” because of his acute dementia and possible stigmatism, must’ve thought it was a salmon because he kept trying to swim up the falls. Some of the other fish would gather around his starting point, and I suspect they were taking bets on whether he would make it or not. He didn’t, but he might’ve, if he had abandoned his banjo. He would take a running start, flap like hell, get about six inches up only to be knocked back into the water, and I could swear the spectators were giving him the Bronx cheer. He would continue this for five or six attempts and then abandoned his efforts, swim to the bottom of the pond and sulk.
As I mentioned previously, our aquanautic population had exploded expotentially and a small horde of teeny-weeny little things were cavorting, in a large mass, all over the place. They were too fast to count, but there was a bunch. I have to assume that I had more than one or two females who were sexually proactive. There was one large, pure gold beauty that I named “Jane” and I suspect that she and “Johnny Weissmuller” were having an affair. They were spending a lot of time together playing adult fish tag.
The little additions seem to be a happy lot, but what they didn’t realize was that their population was slowly diminishing. After a couple of weeks, I noticed that there were only about half of them still in existence. My assumption was that Nixon, as rotund as he was at this point, was still making his presence felt. Clearly – they eat their young. I can only assume that this is Mother Nature at her best. The offspring of the Golden horde were going to the great unknown, to visit the guppies. The only upside to that was it didn’t cost me anything. Some survived, but not many.
Blue-eyes revisited her friend with the Japanese pond that had provoked this project, and discovered that what “we really need to have was some Koi.” So, off I went to visit my friendly pet store and to buy yet more fish. Shockingly, the price of Koi per ounce was the same as gold bullion. Before I laid more bucks on the table I asked the clerk about the mixing of Koi and goldfish. I was assured that they were compatible, “Even though they may try to eat each other.” This guy’s concept of compatibility was certainly unique. My immediate thought was that this could define the essence of politicians, and that I also knew of some marriages that fell into that category. This was not the same person that sold me the original sacrificial guppies, and I asked what happened to her. The new “Pisces expert” told me that she was now the store manager, and the reason was she had set a new corporate record for selling guppies to unsuspecting goldfish owners.
I’m now the proud owner of five beautiful Koi and approximately $160 lighter. Naturally, Koi won’t eat regular fish food, and must have a special pellet which is twice the cost of a lobster at an upscale restaurant in New York City. I figured if the goldfish ate their young, they would certainly eat Koi food, even though the clerk told me they wouldn’t. My attitude was the same for the goldfish as it was for my curtain climbers. “Eat what you’re served or starve.”
My new fish family seemed to adapt real well, but it was clear that there was a new “King of the Hill.” Nixon had lost his position of power, and was forced to abdicate to one of the larger new Koi inhabitants. He was pretty upset, probably a little paranoid and wanted to call a press conference. I had to explain to him that that was not in the best interest of the continued harmony of his previous constituency, and he had to accept the fact that he was just another “small fish in a big pond.” But I digress!
Things seem to be going along swimmingly, if you will excuse my pun, with all the flora and fauna happy with their environment, with no apparent major conflicts between these two species of carp. The hoard was consuming fish food about as fast as I could throw it in there. I bought some more guppies, at a rather astronomical price, to facilitate the cannibalistic tendencies of thier aquian brethren. I stood there for a while, expecting to see absolute carnage, but nothing happened. I was extremely disappointed that I didn’t witness a feeding frenzy and told Blue- eyes, and her comment was the usual, “My mother told me you were weird!” By this time, the goldfish were so fat, they couldn’t catch the guppies. So now I have more damn fish to feed. I decided eventually the guppies would get frustrated because they were not being consumed, and slow down enough for the other fish to catch them. Evidently, this must have happened or they got really bored, and started eating each other. As a matter of more useless information, I couldn’t find the escargot that was intended to clean up the fish residue, and I came to the conclusion that I got sold some dud snails. Naturally, the warranty had expired.
Now, all is well with Lake Shasta. Not so fast! One night I woke up thirsty and went out to the kitchen to get some ice water. There was a considerable noise and rattling around in the patio. Much to my chagrin, I found two huge raccoons on a fishing expedition. One was in the pond, and the other was standing on the edge pointing out the fish. Having already had a bad experience with raccoon’s nasty disposition, I went and got a “three iron” and ventured outside to chase them away. They reluctantly, and leisurely left, giving me dirty looks and half the peace symbol as they departed. (A good thing too, a three iron is not my best club. I lean more toward a fairway wood.)
They had created absolute havoc, destroying most of the plants and had made a meal of a couple of the Koi and a few of the goldfish, one of which was poor ole deposed “Nixon.” As a solution, I considered using the low-voltage horse zapper used to protect fence boards in the corral. It gives the beastie a “harmless” shock, supposedly! I decided against it for fear that I would wake up one morning and find fried raccoons lying all over the place, and end up on the SPCA’s ten most wanted list. Clearly, the pond was not deep enough to keep the banditos from having a rather expensive dinner, using JJ’s credit card. Major design flaw!
A few days later, while contemplating this development, I walked in the back where the pond was, and low and behold an egret was standing in the pond, poking fish out and laying them on the side. I chased it away, assuming this was something of an anomaly. Two days later, ”Big-bird” was back, doing the same thing, only this time he brought a friend for lunch. I chased them away again, yelling that “Kermit the Frog” would hear about this.” By now what was left was one Koi, named “Kamikaze”, and about half the goldfish population. I had named him that because he had two black circles around his eyes which looked like pilot’s goggles. My friend “Deliverance” was still there, plucking away on his banjo. Even the fish gods protect those of us that are complete idiots.
I noticed the water level in the pond had gone down considerably and refilled it only to have it get even lower by the next day. After a few days of this routine, I decided to drain it to see what was going on and discovered dozens of little holes had been punched in by the egrets whenever they missed one of their targets. Some rips were clearly the result of the raccoon attacks. The rubber liner was now nothing more than a sieve. Back to the drawing board.
Blue-eyes got on the phone to her buddy with all the Koi and discovered that we should have had Lake Shasta at least two feet deeper in order to avoid this invasion of unwanted critters. Further, her pond was built like a swimming pool, and sounded like it cost a small fortune. One of Blue-eyes’ comments was, “Gee! Do we really need the fish?” I didn’t say anything, but my thoughts went back to when the “house apes” first brought the goldfish home, and how this whole thing started. “You can’t flush them down the toilet! The kids would never forgive you. They’ve named one of them after you!” I was afraid to ask what that name was. Besides the implications of sentimental history, my ego is now on the line, and this was really a matter of principle. The decision was made! You make it a cement pond.
For a change, I uncharacteristically, did a little planning. I numbered all of the waterfall rocks to preserve our architectural marvel, starting from the bottom, and then took a bunch of pictures so we could reconstruct this thing. I got my ditch digging buddy, (not Blue-eyes, as she informed me this “was not in her job description”), and after fishing (sic.) out all the fish, putting them into their semi-leaky aquarium, began the process of excavation. I found snails and they too had multiplied. Must be something in the water that always promotes procreation. (I wonder how snails do it? Slowly I suspect.) Hey! Three feet by eight by five is a real hole, especially in rock hard adobe, and the size was reminiscent of the Panama Canal. We hit water twice – some damned pipe that I didn’t know was there. Blue–eyes said that we reminded her of an “Oliver and Hardy” movie. (In case you don’t know them, they were an old comedy team like “Cheech and Chong” but without the pot and if you don’t know those two, forget that I even mentioned it.)
During this process the Blonde bombshell discovered some pictures in a garden magazine of a patio very much like ours, with a nice two-foot brick wall and waterspouts feeding into a pond. “I think this would look really nice!” she said, while giving me her big blue-eyed, enticing smile, and handing me a chilled Vodka martini J.J.is a real push-over for a Vodka martini. Slight change of plans! Goodbye “Vernal Falls” and Hello to a bunch damn feather rock that I no longer need. Now I need bricks, mortar, Portland cement, steel mesh, white plaster, plastic plumbing, a more powerful pump, cobalt blue tile for the sides, training, a second job to pay for this stuff and renewal of my weekly visits to my analyst. (Did you know that a bull-nose brick is three times the price of a regular brick? Not really important, but I thought I’d just throw that out there, in case it should be a subject of a trivia game.)
After about three or so weekends of concentrated effort, more of J.J.’s blood, our latest contribution to outdoor living was complete, brick wall and all. “Nixon” would’ve been proud! There was now new lighting on a timer that would probably keep my raccoon buddies away. I read somewhere they don’t like bright lights. Some of the “feather rock” was replaced in the bottom of the pond to provide a degree of shelter and privacy for those fish that were still sexually active. I found the snails and they were considerably larger and in greater quantity than when I originally bought them. I didn’t know whether to put them back into the pond or eat them. (Best served with butter, garlic salt-and-pepper.) There were now three spouts delivering large quantities of water from about 2 ½ feet. Deliverance was still pursuing his swimming upstream fantasy, still carrying his banjo on his back. The rest of the goldfish quit watching because they knew he just wasn’t going to make it. The raccoons gave up on the free lunch at JJ’s Restaurant and the egret returned, only to stand on the brick wall, looking longingly at the pond and leaving rather nasty deposits on the top of the brick wall. “Big bird” must have had some serious intestinal issues. Ugh!
This whole episode happened almost 25 years ago. The kids are long since gone, but the fish are still here. Their kids have enjoyed feeding and watching the horde during their visits. I never mentioned what a pain in the “tush” they were, the goldfish, not the grand kids. (Let me think about that! Just kidding!) I’m not sure how many of the originals are still around, but I suspect more than just a few, predicated on their lifespan. Chances are most of them are second or third generation. The surviving Koi bit the dust many years ago. I think he probably drowned.
Sadly, some time back, I was cleaning the pond and found a little tiny banjo floating on the surface, but no “Deliverance” to be seen. Maybe he made it up the falls after all. Years back “Johnny Weissmuller” got old, lost his ability to swing from tree to tree and “Jane” lost interest and was playing “fish tag” with someone else. But, they both subsequently have gone to fish heaven. As a constant reminder of what an idiot I am, I have feather rock scattered from one end of my property to the other.
Moral of the story: If your kids go to the fair and bring home a bag of goldfish, keep the goldfish and get rid of the kids!
J.J. Addingnuttin 