I know you're probably tired of reading about miraculous fish survivals, but when I find myself telling the same story to multiple people, I realize it's probably blog worthy.
A couple of weeks ago we had a barbecue at my biology professor's place. As part of the evening we were asked to share talents, for which we were awarded a betta fish. Byron had been keeping 38 bettas in his laboratory for his evolutionary biology class for some experiment with male dominance. I personally think they were having cock fights on the weekends. With the experiment completed, Byron had a lot of fish to dispose of, and one by one guests at the barbecue got up and performed lame-o talents to receive their gilled prize. I played an Avril Lavigne pop song on Byron's guitar and picked out a nice purple fish. As the guests dwindled and the box of fish remained relatively full, I felt it my duty to pick out a couple more fish, to ensure that they made it to a good home. I chose a healthy red looking fish and a feisty little guy named Franky Valentino, who apparently had proved his fighting skills earlier.
The fish sat in our kitchen for about a week before we had time to set up new homes for them. Each fish needs its own container, and we didn't have enough fish bowls for all of them. We went to DI and I picked out some plain looking vases, despite Ashton's protests (they weren't aesthetically pleasing). We only got two vases, so the red fish remained in the Petsco cup he was purchased in.
During our awesome baby shower on Saturday, Ashton arranged the vases and cup on the window sill above the sink, and she left the lid off the red fish's cup. A couple hours later we were scurrying around getting ready to attend a cousin's baptism, and we noticed that the cup above the sink had only water in it. We were very perplexed, and we looked all around the window sill and sink to see where the red fish might've plunged to. I sniffed around the drain and detected a definite fishy smell. I shined a flash light down the drain, and saw the unlucky pet, obviously dead. We have no idea how long he'd been there, but the aroma indicated it might've been a while. I sprayed water down the drain to dislodge his body and reached down with a glove to retrieve him. I dropped him in the sink and confirmed that he was dead. Not knowing what to do with him, I threw him back in the cup of water so we could take off for the baptism. As I washed the gloves off in the sink, Ashton noticed that the fish's gills were starting to move. The fish gradually began moving its fins, but it was tipped on its side. We left for the baptism, and when we got back, the fish was still alive, and looking pretty normal and healthy. We were completely amazed at his recovery, and I named him Lazarus. Those bettas are invincible.
Unfortunately Lazarus's tail fin has slowly deteriorated and fallen off in chunks. I think that while he lay in the disposal his circulatory system pumped all the blood to the core, keeping all his vitals okay but causing his extremities to die. It's definitely affected his ability to swim. He kind of looks like he's nodding.
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