The Story of Alfred

My recent stint as a fish sitter reminded me of my very first, and very sad, foray into the world of betta fish:

    One cold spring day in 2008, I found myself at a pet shop down the street from my college apartment, buying a large glass brandy snifter style bowl, a fake plant, and a beautiful blue veiltail betta-- Alfred. 

Like my friends, the keepers of Nemo, I just didn't know any better. 

       I brought Alfred back to my chilly apartment, placed him into the bowl, and set him on the coffee table to be admired. I cannot remember changing the water (or conditioning it), I cannot remember feeding him (though I must have), and worst of all, I cannot remember much about Alfred-- how he lived, his personality, or how long it was before he died (though it couldn't have been long).  

     Looking at this picture now, with all I've read about bettas, all I can say is that I am glad that I at least provided a soft plant he could lie on to gasp air from the surface.

     I have a lot of guilt about how I treated pets during this period in my life. I was too busy, too self-absorbed and too irresponsible to provide any creature, and sometimes even myself, with the proper care yet, time and time again, I subjected a pet to my negligence. 

      If someone had told me, when I was buying Alfred, that he needed more than what I was planning to give him in order to be happy and healthy, I'm not sure I would have listened. 

     We've all heard the betta myths, we've all seen them in the little bowls, the vases, the mason jars, we've all just assumed that this is what they need. We, the novice fish keepers of the world, only know what we're taught and when the pet store aisles are filled with bitty betta tanks and dozens of bettas floating in tiny, dirty, plastic tubs, we're instantly miseducated on their basic needs.

Like his life, Alfred's story is short, however his legacy, is not. I know better now, I'll do better now.