My dad was an avid fish keeper, which is to say he managed to keep enough fish alive throughout the average year to justify calling his pastime a hobby.
He'd also always manage to lose enough of the creatures in his tank to species mismatches (the fish killed each other), myseterious algae (he didn't change the water often enough) and other mishaps to make picking out a Christmas present for him each year a cinch.
By the time he went to fishkeeper heaven, my dad had acquired a huge tank for his living room, filled with an impressive collection of tiger barbs, siamese flying foxes, catfish, cichlids, gouramis and barbs. Frankly, that gigantic tank and its contents was the single greatest challenge for my brother and I when it came to figuring out what to do with his belongings. (Note: the fish were not 'flushed'! they were returned to Steve's pet shop in Dover).
Anyway, I've been meaning for ages now to buy William a fish tank with which to continue the family tradition and, voila!, last weekend I finally got around to it.
I'm a bit concerned that William keeps pointing to the tank and saying "help!" (he may be plotting a daring assisted escape) but other than that, they're getting on swimmingly. (Get it...swimmingly? Oh, nevermind.)
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