Something's Kinda Fishy

I recently picked up this book at Barnes & Noble called Lies You Learned at School by Michael Powell for the bargain price of $7.  It turns out a bunch of stuff I thought was true really isn't.  For example, Napoleon wasn't actually French-born, George Washington didn't really chop down his father's apple tree, and it turns out that the Great Barrier Reef isn't even the world's largest living organism.  There are about 80 common myths debunked in this little book, and I just thought it was interesting.  

One small entry I overlooked but then revisited after an event in our house this week: 

Lie:  Goldfish have three-second memories.

Truth:  Scientists have proven that fish have quite sophisticated behavior patterns and can remember for up to 2.5 million times longer than previously believed - instead of three seconds, think three months.

Hmm.

We have a fish in our house - not a goldfish - but a very beautiful Betta named Phinneas.  Get it?  FIN-ee-us.  Because he has fins.  Genius, I know.

Anyway, we have to put the bowl that Phinneas calls home up very high, because of previous incidents involving goldfish in our house.  I'll spare you all the gory details, but let's just say that after spending $50 on a pirate ship tank, treasure chest home, cool plastic plants, fish food and two goldfish named Bob and Joe, there was a very nice ceremony involving tears and a porcelain flush just two days post-purchase.  We also had a very valuable (I thought) lesson on how fish don't like to be petted or squeezed, and although they swim, they don't like to do cannonballs back into the tank. 

Apparently this talk went down the pipes when the poor fish did, because if Phinneas is not guarded by the two tall(er) people in this house, he would be subject to the same demise that Bob and Joe were, bless their souls.

So, here is what happened the other day.  B-man (who is a very intelligent and fairly creative three-year-old) waited until Dad was momentarily out of the room, and proceeded to pull a chair over to where Phinneas's fish bowl sits.  Now, B-man often complains that we don't give him enough cookies, candy or chocolate milk, so I'm guessing that he assumed Phinneas is probably just as deprived and in need of a personal culinary savior.

I post Exhibit A below - on the left side is the normal amount of food Phinneas is supposed to consume in one day - three or four pellets.  I know, I know - seems like some sort of animal cruelty, but the pet store expert assured me that any more than that would likely kill him.  On the right, I have displayed the (approximate) amount of food B-man so generously supplied to our fish in one feeding.

Luckily, Dad walked in the room in time to scoop out a large portion of the pellets, but not before Phinneas enjoyed some of the smorgasbord of a buffet sprinkled before him.  Now, you can guess what I figured would happen next.  I assumed that our poor fish would literally explode overnight and that I would have to play mediator when G-man found out what B-man had done and proceeded to strangle him in broad daylight in front of his own mother.

But, I give you Exhibit B.

Two days later, and Phinneas is still chillin' in his posh pad.  Obviously, he can consume more than his weight in food and live to tell about it.  And, since it turns out he has a three-month memory - or more - I'm sure that (for the short-term at least) he has decided that B-man is infinitely much cooler than the grown-ups in this house. 

Maybe he does fit in around here after all.