The Rescue

Last night Isaiah and I were looking for distractions. He is teething like mad but copes quite well if we can keep that little brain of his busy. One of his favorite things is watching the fish swim in the tank. I took a handful of food and splashed it into the water. The fish went nuts, jumping and flipping about. Water oozed down the side of the tank, leaving a salty white residue. Isaiah talked and smiled at his friends, recognizing the fact that fish have feelings too.

Suddenly I thought I saw movement underneath a rock. I took a closer look. Sure enough, there was a baby! (FYI - baby fish are called "fry") My fish are bright and colorful. They enjoy procreation. They are also mean and cannibalistic. I often see a female holding eggs in her mouth. I realize that the day they are mature enough to swim out of her mouth is the day that I don't need to feed my fish. And I'm okay with that. I don't go to great effort to remove the female to save the babies. I don't know what I would do with that many fish anyway.

BUT if I see a baby hiding in the rocks, I have to save it's life. And so I laid Isaiah on the floor, much to his chagrin. I pulled out the water vacuum and the fish net and started moving rocks. The baby zigged and zagged, not realizing that I was trying to save his life and by fleeing was putting his little puny self in danger of being gobbled up. Isaiah, understanding babyness, cried and complained as well in support of his little friends plight, I imagine. I finally scooped Fry to safety and ran to the garage to get my small tank.

I plugged it in, happy to see that the motor still worked. I put a shell in the bottom of the tank to provide a bit of security and I fed the little guy baby bits of fish food. Isaiah and I sat and admired our work. And then he zonked out in my arms for the night.