Remember T.'s fish Spike? The one that died last week, only 48 hours after we'd first bought him? A mere 24 hours after that, while we were still in Maryland with my parents, Scott called.
Molly had her baby! He declared, triumphantly, on the phone.
Who? I asked. Did we HAVE a friend named Molly? A friend expecting a child?
But Molly, of course, was T.'s other fish, a rotund orange one that Scott swore was pregnant when the kids and I brought it home from the pet store.
Oh, she's not pregnant! I told him confidently. All those kinds of fish have big bellies. Besides, we got her from a tank marked "Males".
Clearly, some mix-up had occurred. Molly had indeed given birth to, as it turned out, quite a few baby fish. Scott rushed out to the pet store again (only the night before he had turned up there with dead Spike in a tupperware) and bought a contraption called a fish nursery. My patient, ever-kind husband then proceeded to spend a ridiculous amount of time assembling the nursery, and tracking down those teeny, tiny, transparent, bug-eyed baby mollies with a net, until he had managed to quarantine 5 off in the nursery contraption--but not before he witnessed that pleasant-looking Molly consume a couple of her own baby offspring.
The kids overheard me talking with Scott about how we needed to keep those babies away from their mother at all costs.
Why? L. wanted to know.
Don't babies need their Mommy fish? T. asked, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity.
When I explained to the kids that fish sometimes eat their own babies, both kids seemed a little taken aback.
Why would they do THAT? L. wanted to know, sensibly I think. But then he quickly remembered that only the other day he'd heard on The Tree House Detectives show he likes so much that sometimes father lions attack and kill their own offspring. He wasted no time sharing this with his sister and she listened carefully, her face frozen in concern and horror, as she raced to reconcile, in her own sweet four-year old mind, the soft and friendly world of doe-eyed talking animals she loves so much with this new glimpse into a barbaric and inexplicable reality.
Now, a few days after the Big Event, we've ended up with 10 baby mollies in all--I found three more today in the bottom of the filter and quickly dumped them into the nursery to join their brothers and sisters. Two more were spotted lurking near the bottom of our tank decor. Yesterday evening T. and I watched them closely while they skittered about, impossibly tiny things--no bigger than a baby's fingernail clipping--and too nimble to catch. Then T. shrieked suddenly--she'd caught sight of Molly, huge by comparison, swimming idly near the babies' hiding place.
Oh no! She cried out in alarm. Hide, babies, hide!
...
Hide from your Mama!
Molly had her baby! He declared, triumphantly, on the phone.
Who? I asked. Did we HAVE a friend named Molly? A friend expecting a child?
But Molly, of course, was T.'s other fish, a rotund orange one that Scott swore was pregnant when the kids and I brought it home from the pet store.
Oh, she's not pregnant! I told him confidently. All those kinds of fish have big bellies. Besides, we got her from a tank marked "Males".
Clearly, some mix-up had occurred. Molly had indeed given birth to, as it turned out, quite a few baby fish. Scott rushed out to the pet store again (only the night before he had turned up there with dead Spike in a tupperware) and bought a contraption called a fish nursery. My patient, ever-kind husband then proceeded to spend a ridiculous amount of time assembling the nursery, and tracking down those teeny, tiny, transparent, bug-eyed baby mollies with a net, until he had managed to quarantine 5 off in the nursery contraption--but not before he witnessed that pleasant-looking Molly consume a couple of her own baby offspring.
The kids overheard me talking with Scott about how we needed to keep those babies away from their mother at all costs.
Why? L. wanted to know.
Don't babies need their Mommy fish? T. asked, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity.
When I explained to the kids that fish sometimes eat their own babies, both kids seemed a little taken aback.
Why would they do THAT? L. wanted to know, sensibly I think. But then he quickly remembered that only the other day he'd heard on The Tree House Detectives show he likes so much that sometimes father lions attack and kill their own offspring. He wasted no time sharing this with his sister and she listened carefully, her face frozen in concern and horror, as she raced to reconcile, in her own sweet four-year old mind, the soft and friendly world of doe-eyed talking animals she loves so much with this new glimpse into a barbaric and inexplicable reality.
Now, a few days after the Big Event, we've ended up with 10 baby mollies in all--I found three more today in the bottom of the filter and quickly dumped them into the nursery to join their brothers and sisters. Two more were spotted lurking near the bottom of our tank decor. Yesterday evening T. and I watched them closely while they skittered about, impossibly tiny things--no bigger than a baby's fingernail clipping--and too nimble to catch. Then T. shrieked suddenly--she'd caught sight of Molly, huge by comparison, swimming idly near the babies' hiding place.
Oh no! She cried out in alarm. Hide, babies, hide!
...
Hide from your Mama!