I waited all day today

for a great idea to share with the world. Well, I didn’t come up with anything on my own, unfortunately. BUT, a lovely tidbit fell into my lap. You might want to sit down for this: My dad killed my fish. Yes, that’s correct. Deader than a doornail. So here’s the skinny: I got the fish tank 7ish years ago from my lovely brother. Since that time, I have not cleaned it. Ever. Well, since I’ve been a full time student (the last 4 years of my life in college) my dad has been taking care of the fish (our dog died a few years ago and mom won’t let him get another). I’ve had one Danio (Ned) that has lasted the full 7 years. He’s a fighter (and perhaps the cause of the other’s demise), but that’s another story. Now, dad feeds the fish (I had two: Ned, and a fish who formerly had no name until he turned suicidal, I saved him accidentally (it was a miracle) and then he adopted the name Lucky). But dad feeds the fish like he would feed a horse. There is more food on my carpet than in the tank! My room adopted a fish-food smell a few months ago. Anyways… dad decided that the tank needed cleaned since he could no longer see the fish (I still say it is because he fed them and unnaturally large amount). So he cleaned the begeesus out of it. He got new rocks, cleaned the filter, and scraped the algae off the sides! He also cleaned the ‘furniture’ (a few roman columns and a pot, of course). Well, just a few short hours later, Lucky was belly-up. Sad story, I know. But you’ve got to appreciate the irony of this story. The care-taker fish-savior becomes the fish-murderer. At least he said a few words before flushing the poor thing. Thanks dad.