Trial by Fire Parenting: Episode 101: Pets and lying to your children

In my childhood and adult life I have had a number of traumatic animal related incidents. From the time my father told me that he ran over a bunny with the lawn mower to the morning I saw my own cat get hit by a car while I was waiting for the bus. Something I still somehow blame myself for. In between there was the time my other cat got hit by a car (and subsequently put out of it's misery by my father with a shotgun) and the day that I came home from school to find that my golden retriever, Sarah, was no longer living with us. My father told me that he took her to a farm because she pounced and old lady and almost killed her. For years I didn't believe him, but my dad is a pretty honest guy and considering he told me about shooting the cat and running over the bunny, I assume that he really did just give her away. Either way, that is about the worst possible news a 7-year old can hear. Your dog is gone. Even if it is still alive.

My point is that as parents there will inevitably come a time when something dies that will traumatize your child and the way that you handle it is very important. My father always took an honest policy with me about everything, thus I am now aware of many gruesome deaths that have victimized my pets, and I appreciate that. I will try to do the same when Av is older because I personally feel that the more experience you have dealing with trauma as a young child the easier it is to internally cope with it as an adult. And we all see how normal, well adjusted and rational I am. See, and I skipped most of my psychology elective in college, too. That said, here is a story about me not doing any of that.

August has been a rough pet month here on Roslyn Street. First, Monica's prized box turtle, Mookie, finally bit the dust after almost 15 years of curling up in a dark corner and not eating. Seriously, this thing was unreal. It ate like twice a year. When you let it out of the cage it found the nearest dark corner and stood there, not moving. Anyway, the thing finally died a few weeks ago and we had to bury it under a tree at Forest River Park. Very sad. We all loved Mookie. For Av's part, she had no attachment to the turtle whatsoever and spent the 'funeral' bitching at us to go to the playground. Conflict number one- avoided.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for her pet beta fish, 'Kitty,' who passed away a few days ago, creating quite the conundrum for dad. Here is how it went down. First, I must tell you that we have two adult betas that live in the kitchen and playroom, respectively. I like betas. They are colorful, they live much longer than most fish, and they don't require any sort of special tank or food. You can put them in anything, give them fish food twice a day and they are happy. Case and point: Our betas live in a coffee pot and a flower vase and they have lived for over a year. Try doing that with a goldfish. It will be dead in a week. Anyway, one day while killing time at the pet store I came across this tiny, Av sized beta and decided it would be fun to buy it for her and put it in her room as her very own pet. I had never seen a beta that small, and one that was almost entirely white, so I decided I had to go for it.

Av fell in love with the fish almost instantly. Every morning she pulled at my pant leg for me to lift her up so she could feed it. In love. Fast forward to Saturday morning. Av and Monica were at her mother's house and I was making the rounds feeding the fish when I noticed that the one in Av's room was unresponsive. Anyone who has ever seen a beta fish die of natural causes knows that it doesn't just float to the top like a goldfish. It fights. Usually it is nose down on the rocks, sometimes spinning around. It won't eat and, usually, within a few minutes it will move on to the beta fish afterlife. This is exactly what I saw Saturday morning. Confused, as we had only purchased this fish a month or so ago, I decided that the tiny, albino beta probably had some sort of fish AIDS and was not long fort this world anyway. That was why it was so tiny, and a dollar cheaper than the other betas at the store. I had a short moment of silence and set out to Petsmart to replace it before Av got home. Yeah, there was no way I was going to tell her. She would be crushed. I just went to the store and hoped that they had something similar in color so that she wouldn't notice.

Of course, when I got to Petsmart all of the little white AIDS betas were gone, and they only had regular guys, so I got her a silver and blue one and decided I would play dumb if she asked any questions. Lying to your kids: the best way to avoid explaining the pointlessness and misery of life.

Here is the problem. I got home with the new fish only to realized that the old fish had made a miraculous recovery. It was swimming in circles around his tank and looked very alive. To test it out I sprinkled in some food. No go. The little guy had no interest and quickly lost energy again and nosed in to the rocks. It was very clear that this fish was going to die, it just hadn't yet. What do I do? I had this very alive replacement fish ready to go. I even bought it new rocks and a tank decoration so it didn't have to live among the death.

I was faced with an incredible dilemma. Hours before the baby was set to be home I needed to replace dying fish with healthy fish, but I didn't have the heart to flush the old guy until he was dead. That seems like an awful way to go. I battled a strong inner conflict for close to a half hour before I decided that I would spare old fish a flush, but I would do what I could to naturally speed up its death. So, I took him out of the AIDS tank and put him in a wine glass, which I placed on the back porch. I figured maybe a stray cat or a bird would come along and have lunch, or maybe one of our cats would finally grow a set and eat him. Yeah, I know that is cruel, but at least that is like some circle of life stuff and not just me flushing it down the toilet to live with that dump I took when I woke up. Don't judge me.

I put the old fish in the cup and made it very accessible to my cats and to any other strays in the neighborhood. I set up the new fish and cleaned out the coffee pot and flower vase for the other two and checked back outside. Nothing. Still alive. Still hurting. At this point it was spinning in circles and smashing its face off the side of the glass. I tried to feed it again, convincing myself that if it ate I would find it a regular home, but it didn't, meaning that it was just slowly dying of fish AIDS. My next step has been criticized by some. I decided that I would add a little bit of vodka to the water. Apparently this is cruel. I just figured the fish would catch a buzz and die of alcohol poisoning. It seemed like a nice way to go. If I was going to kill myself I'd sure rather drink or take a ton of drugs then jump off a bridge or shoot myself. At least have a little bit of fun, right?

Anyway, before you go calling PETA, know that the vodka didn't kill the fish, either. It was still doing the swim in a circle, nose in to the bottom of the glass thing. I still didn't have the heart to flush it. What is wrong with me? Long story short, and I know this is anti-climactic, but I left it out overnight and when I woke up it was dead. I am going to say that the fish AIDS probably just killed it naturally, but there is a chance that it got a little too cold at night and that is what killed it. Either way, it is dead.

Av didn't notice the difference in fish, although she did quickly point out the way that I redecorated the tank, but I still had to sneak the old fish inside and flush it without her seeing. Not as easy as you think. I almost got bagged twice walking in to the bathroom (where she usually follows me because she likes to watch me pee, kids are so weird) but I was able to sneak it in and flush it down. Crisis averted. Was it an unceremonious way for the poor little guy to go? Yeah, it was. But it is better than being flushed alive, right? Right. So, the moral for today is 18 months is way to young for a 'my fish died' lesson. I am saving all of my emotional ammo for when Nugget finally dies of being a fat, stagnant, lazy cat in a few years.