Because I Clean Up Enough Poop Already - Take Two

Poppy, the woman I wish I had the balls to be, suggested that this story was worthy of a re-post.  Who am I to argue?  This version, however, has been drastically edited so that the average person can finish reading it in the span of one lifetime....

My kids are not privileged. Andrew and I provide them with the things they need, ie; food, clothing, shelter, love, etc. They have never been to Disneyland, Chuck E. Cheese's is a fictional place they see on TV, I have never seen a reason to buy them a pair of Heelys, (there are plenty of other ways for them to brake their wrists and rudely cut off other people in the grocery store aisles), they do not have their own laptops, I frequently buy their clothes at a consignment shop, and a second hand Playstation 2 is the closest they will ever get to having a cool gaming system.

Experiencing want gives a person character and depth. Gratitude. Generosity. An ability to empathize with others who experience a more meaningful want. I regularly deprive my children of material goods both to save myself a heap of money and to raise them up to be decent people. I certainly hope it's working.

There is one area, however, where I feel I have short changed my kids, and might continue doing so for a good, long while: We have never had a pet. Unless you count the time that I bought them each a fish when Cameron was four and Ethan was two. Andrew and I let Cameron and Ethan each pick out one fish. They were both thrilled, and I was amused at the naming process.

"Cameron, what are you going to name your fish?", I asked.

"Fish."

"Yes, I know it's a fish, but what are you going to call him?"

"Fish."

Okay.

"Ethan, what are you going to name your fish?"

"Blue," was Ethan's firm reply.

"But he's yellow?" I pointed out.

"No. Blue."

Fish and Blue were members of our family for about a week when we noticed that Blue was taking bites out of Fish whenever Fish happened to swim in Blue's personal space. This went on for a day or two, and finally, when Fish's back-end was missing several scales and he was swimming a little bit lopsided, I decided that we would have to exterminate poor Blue. I didn't want to have to explain to Ethan what had become of his beloved pet, so I told him that his fish was being very bad and hurting the other fish, so we would have to flush him down the toilet to go live with the other naughty fish. 

Ethan was fascinated by Blue swirling around in the toilet bowl, and finally disappearing into that mysterious world of Fish Rehabilitation.

A day or so later we went to the pet store again and replaced Blue with two fish that looked like Dalmations, and which I took the liberty of naming Pongo and Perdita.

Our fish experience did not get better from there. Shortly after the arrival of our two new fish, I became very tired of the weekly tank cleanings. They were more of an exercise for my gag reflex than anything else. I was sure that cleaning the tank so often shouldn't have been necessary, and so I again paid a visit to Pet Smart, where I was helped by a girl who falsely advertised intelligence by wearing black-framed glasses. She told me that a couple of snails would do the trick. The snails eat scum, see, so two of them ought to be able to handle our little ten gallon tank. No prob. I picked out two black fellas and, after acclimating them to the temperature of our tank's water, dumped them into their new home, which featured a smorgasbord of delicious, green slime.

The next day, neither snail had moved so much as an inch from where they landed upon their arrival, and had not even had the courtesy to emerge from their shells and introduce themselves to their tank mates. I assumed, after another day of observation, that going so long without activity could only mean that they were dead. I guiltily buried them in the kitchen trash. I later learned that such behavior is normal for snails and that I probably gave our two black friends a live burial, but what can I say? Someone should have warned me.

Back to Pet Smart, where I got two more snails, yellow this time, in case they might be more durable than the black, and home we went. The yellow snails were not a bit shy about exploring their new surroundings and took no time at all in searching each other out and enjoying one another's company.

"Why is that snail on top of that other snail, Mama?"

"They are giving each other piggy back rides! Snails like to do that. Aren't they fun?" Bullet dodged for another day.

Now, I am not an expert on snails or their reproductive habits. They could be asexual, for all I know. But I do know that there were constant piggy-back rides going on in the water, and in just a matter of a week we had some kind of alien-snail egg sacks lining every corner and crevice of that darn tank, and the snails were so busy with their games, that they were forgetting their dietary needs altogether - which meant that I was left to clean the blasted tank again - this time being forced to empty the entire thing, chisel the repulsive egg sacks from their many hiding places and remove the disgusting, sludgy particles from rocks and fake seaweed. 

I have never spent so much time trying to force my brain into it's happy place and failed so completely. It was disgusting. But after about an hour and a few dry heaves, the tank was sparkling and the fish were happy.

A couple of days later, the snails, who must have been very bored and resorted to their old games, had produced another crop of potential young. I was outraged! How dare they commit such an act in a spotless tank?!? I felt like I was living in a science fiction movie and would wake up one night to the sound of an ominous sucking/popping/gushing sound and creep out to the living room to find a mass of jelly-like pods pulsing with giant snails. They would surely hatch and begin oozing shiny trails all over my walls and floor.

Not long afterward, I began avoiding the tank in every way - no wandering glances, give it a good, wide berth when walking past - until Cameron yelled to me in a high-pitched, alarming voice, "Mama! There are baby snails!"

No. Please, no.

Sure enough, there were about thirty million teensy snails, complete with translucent yellow shells stuck all over every wall of the tank.

That was it. I couldn't take it anymore, and I threw the entire thing in the garbage that night. I am not an animal person, and I have no regrets.

And that's why we don't have any pets.