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.     

The Fish Sitter

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?

Nemo heads back home today with a few more things in tow-- some Indian almond leaves to adjust the PH, water conditioner, a turkey baster (for spot cleaning), some New Life Spectrum betta food mixed in with his Top Fin pellets and a dose of Seachem's StressGuard in his water. When I return him to his family this evening, I'm hoping to have the opportunity to offer a little advice about the frequency of water changes (his tank measured .25 ppm ammonia 24 hours after a water change), the importance of keeping him warm, and the danger his plastic plant poses to his delicate fins.

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.