Betta Better

Back in June, we decided to keep pet fish. All the fish I chose have since died. The Man however, had chosen a red and blue Betta. I have never been fond of these fish. I think they are ugly and they look depressed. I also hate how the pet stores keep the fish in a tiny cup, claiming the fish likes it that way.

When we got the The Fish home, we tried out several containers to house it. I didn't like any of them. They seemed too small. I hated the idea of The Fish trapped in a confined space. It looked so miserable, with droopy fins and no room to turn around. I went to another pet store to ask what size container a Betta should have. The staff there very convincingly told me male Bettas must be kept alone in a small container that mimics their natural habitat. This is a territorial fish that likes to stay in one place. If you put it in a large aquarium, the fish will only swim in a fixed spot.

But surely, "fixed" doesn't mean the size of a tea cup, I argued. Yup, that's what they like, said the fish people.

So I went on the internet and researched how to care for Bettas. Lo and behold! Several sites said the pet stores are wrong. Pet shops care about stocking fish and shelf space, not fish happiness. The sites recommended at least a one-gallon container for a Betta. One site even said a 10 gallon tank. Well, I happen to have a 3 gallon tank that my expired swimmers bequeathed to The Fish. So that's what I used. And you know, The Fish seemed much happier in that tank. It swam around the whole tank checking out the big plant I put in it, using the plant as a hideout. The Fish is full of curiosity too. Every time I put the pump in to change some water, it swims up to the hose to investigate.

Since The Man left for Yemen, I am the only one looking after The Fish. The Boy has no interest. When I introduced a filter and heater a week ago, it explored the two new pieces of equipment endlessly, wrapping its body and fins around them. I visit more regularly. Sometimes it sleeps nestled into the plant and doesn't move. But for the evening visit, we have a routine. I come into the room, make noise, and shine a light on it. It swims away from the plant, stretches around the tank, and swims to the surface. It looks at me expectantly, blows an air bubble as if blowing me a kiss, and waits for me to drop the food pellets. The Fish and I are communing.