A little earlier this year the boys both won goldfish at the school fair, which for a month or so, took pride of place in their respective bowls on the breakfast bar.
After a few months of swimming round and round an empty tank, eventually one died, possibly out of total boredom. This was no surprise, at least to everyone except my Wife, who as a child allegedly had the same Goldfish for 9 years........ Welcome to my World.
Fish No 1 was given a fittingly somber send off, which involved the whole family gathering over a hastily dug shallow grave at the bottom of the garden. Dementor No 1 said a few words in memory of his pet, which I obviously didn’t pay any heed to as I can’t remember them, I blame the grief, before I stamped a sod of turf on top of it & marked the grave with a stick. There it would lay to enjoy eternal rest or until it was dug up & eaten by a cat, which ever came first.
Two months later & fish No 2 is beginning to show its age. It’s body is no longer straight having developed a noticeable curve to the left, if there were corners in the tank it would be able to see round them before it gets there, which makes it a little difficult to swim in a straight line.
My Wife, a Nurse, has been reading up on what may be wrong with the fish and how to care for it. Now when I say reading up, she consulted Google, not a veterinary journal. Which explains how she came up with the treatment she did.
One morning she came upstairs & interrupted my ironing (yep, hot metal plate on clothes, I’m a man that can do that) to tell me how she had begun treating the sickly fish with Whiskey.
Now, the only place she could have gotten whiskey is from my prized collection. Understandably concerned I descended 14 stairs in one step, having switched off the iron, safety’s not a dirty word. Where upon entering the kitchen, scotch for medicinal purposes took on a new meaning.
My bottle of Johnnie Walker Gold Label Reserve was sitting next to the fish tank. A fish tank that was holding a now fairly relaxed and not at all Ill looking Fish.
I swear the bugger even winked at me.
Amazingly the whiskey seemed to do the trick and goldie returned to its former fishy glory. Slowly I even began to get over the use of my liquor. It transpires however that its recovery wasn’t as successful as first thought and my darling wife had been continuing to administer booze every few days, even experimenting with various brands of whiskey to see the effect.
So after a week of feeding the bugger Johnnie Walker, Jack Daniels & Jameson, we actually had a very ill and possibly alcoholic fish, floating about in a delightfully drunken stupor
Then to my great relief, it died. Well, I didn’t like to think it was suffering
I had the last laugh though, I told the family that I buried Fish 2 beside Fish 1 in a respectful ceremony. Confession time, I flushed it straight down the loo!
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