A few weeks ago, Nemo the betta came to stay with me while his family went on holiday. He arrived with his accouterments in tow-- a half gallon plastic tank complete with pink gravel, a pink plastic plant, and a pink plastic castle, as well as a container of Top Fin betta food and a gallon of distilled water.
I was left without much instruction on his care and was told just to give him six food pellets a day-- three in the morning, three in the evening. Thinking this sounded like an awful lot of food, and curious as to how often his water needed to be changed, I turned to the internet for some advice.
It didn't take much searching before I realized that Nemo's half gallon puzzle tank and the unheated, unfiltered distilled water was less than adequate.
It first occurred to me to upgrade his tank, move him up to at least the two-and-a-half gallon (minimum size) heated tank that a betta fish requires, but after pacing the floor of many a pet store, and listening to the way betta fish are regarded by pet shop customers and employees, I realized that if even if I did make things better for him while he was with me, this upgrade might not be well received once his family returned to claim him.
After all, when he arrived at my house, I was regaled with tales of his escapades-- flopping around the bedroom floor after his keeper, a four-year-old child, knocked over the dresser he resides on. And tales of a friends' betta that had survived two months, unfed and unattended to only to die, once remembered, in a pitcher of untreated water.
With stories like this, how could I convince my friend and her little girl that this fish needed anything more than what they were giving him?
How do you tell someone that they're treating an animal cruelly, when everyone else, even the "fish experts" at the pet shop, say that what they're doing is okay?
It didn't take much searching before I realized that Nemo's half gallon puzzle tank and the unheated, unfiltered distilled water was less than adequate.
It first occurred to me to upgrade his tank, move him up to at least the two-and-a-half gallon (minimum size) heated tank that a betta fish requires, but after pacing the floor of many a pet store, and listening to the way betta fish are regarded by pet shop customers and employees, I realized that if even if I did make things better for him while he was with me, this upgrade might not be well received once his family returned to claim him.
After all, when he arrived at my house, I was regaled with tales of his escapades-- flopping around the bedroom floor after his keeper, a four-year-old child, knocked over the dresser he resides on. And tales of a friends' betta that had survived two months, unfed and unattended to only to die, once remembered, in a pitcher of untreated water.
With stories like this, how could I convince my friend and her little girl that this fish needed anything more than what they were giving him?
How do you tell someone that they're treating an animal cruelly, when everyone else, even the "fish experts" at the pet shop, say that what they're doing is okay?
Someday soon, I hope to introduce Nemo's keepers to my very own betta in his 5.5 gallon heated, filtered, planted, cycled tank, and show them what bettas really need to live-- not just survive. Perhaps that will open up a healthy, less intrusive, conversation about what is best for Nemo. If only that conversation could be had with betta owners and pet shops everywhere.
