Here fishy fishy fishy!

On monday night my friend Marie and I decided to go for a few drinks at Boston Pizza. On the way home we stopped at Petcetera to pickup some dog food for her puppy, Dallas. Well, 45 minutes later (which much to the chagrin of the checkout girl put us slightly past the closing time of 9pm), I walked out with a new pet! My very own Betta fish! Now, most of you are probably thinking, "So what? A fish. Big whoop". But to me, it is. I shall explain: A) For those of you who know me, I have an extreme fear of all things aquatic. Everything from whales (merely typing this word makes me shutter), to sharks, to lobsters, to sea urchins. I dislike it. All of it. Don't ask me why. I have pondered this question many times over with no inch of success. There seems to be no instance in my lifetime that I can recall that would supply a satisfactory explination of such a fear. I am aware how silly this fear may sound to many of you, but I can assure you I'm not the only one out there with this aversion (back me up on this one, Jo?), but I can't help it. It is what it is. With that in mind, I suppose I am wishfully hoping that this may be the first step to overcoming my fear. Hey, everyone's got to start somewhere, right? and B) The other reason this a somewhat monumental purchase, goes back to a rather sad and disturbing childhood memory (in my mind, anyway). I can't remember my exact age, but I'm going to ballpark it somewhere around 5 or 6. My dad had won me a goldfish at a local carnival playing one of those seemingly impossible ring around the coke bottle top games. After blissfully carrying around my new friend in the standard packaging of polyethylene with a twist tie, a more suitable home was found for him in a nice, round fishbowl. I was proud to be responsible for a living creature, and thoroughly enjoyed watching him swim around. I named him Chippewa Fish, after the town my grandparents lived in. One weekend my parents took me to visit said grandparents for a one night stay. Before we left, I asked what would happen to Chippewa Fish while we were gone. My mum said he would be fine on his own, but I insisted that he would be lonely and that the solitude was inhumane. My parents caved in and reluctantly scooped my fish into a margarine container. When I saw the temporary abode I immediately protested, contending that he could easily jump out of such a flimsy, low rise container. With my parent's assurance that he would be fine, the four of us loaded into the car and departed. We spent the day visiting with grandma and grandpa, and my fish spent the day swimming around the green and white container marked "Lactancia". All was well. Until the morning. When I wandered into the kitchen, there were my parents: one sitting at the kitchen table, the other leaning against the counter. They looked at me, and I knew something was up. My gaze shifted to the margarine container. It was emptly. No water. No fish. I looked back to my parents. My dad then broke the news to me that in the middle of the night, it appeared that Chippewa Fish had tried to break free and fled from his bowl. He then unfolded a piece of paper towel to reveal my lifeless friend. I actually can't recall if I cried or not, but I do remember making the whole "I told you so" spiel to my mother about trying to cage my precious goldfish in some silly margarine container. In an attempt to make it up to me, we had a short, but meaningful, burial service for him in the backyard. He was buried next to the shed and my grandfather even hammered together two small pieces of wood to make a cross that marked the grave. We gathered 'round and I declared what a good friend he was. Looking back, it does seem a bit ridiculous, but I didn't care - it was the first loss I had know. It's wierd how some things like that seem to forever vividly superglue themselves in your brain, and since the happenings of that day I have been reluctant to attempt to care for another fish. But, 17 or so years later, I'm going to give it another go.
The name of my new fishy is Maceo, after Maceo Parker. There he is pictured above, happily swimming around his teal Betta Condo complete with fake plant and his very own treasure chest! I quickly found out he makes some very spastic movements when things are placed too close to his tank (like a camera, or a finger). I feed him Asticots rouges, or blood worms. They are dry and crusty. Kind of gross, really. I refuse to touch them so I have reserved a pair of tweezers with which to transport them. He better like them. He's got gorgeous colourings, too; bright blue on top, with a redish/purple on the bottom. We get along well. Hopefully things go better with this one than the last.
Well, that's all the ramblings I have in me for tonight. This blogging business is highly addictive, though. I'm sure for the first while I will be posting quite often. Don't expect that to last long. I'm lazy like that.
Peace out, dudes and dudettes,

Cassy