Today’s Muse. His eye is on the Goldfish.
I don’t do goldfish.
I used too. I never lived in a dorm or apartment without one swirling around (alive) a bowl. In law school, I purchased a pair first semester and named them Pennoyer and Neff. The parties to a case every newbie law student studies an entire semester only to learn it was overruled eons ago. HA HA. Law school profs are soooo funny that way.
Pennoyer and Neff were my mates throughout law school until an unfortunate attempt to clean their water landed them in a laundry sink with bleach residue. Alas, Penny turned fins up.
So after years of almost effortless goldfish-husbandry, lately a goldfish in my care has been as dead man swimming.
Meet Bob.
Yesterday, I saw this little guy with his lips pressed up again the glass at our local mega-store.
And he came home with me.
What changed?
For the last week I had been fish-sitting for our neighbors. Which is fine, I’ve sat for this guy before. He’s well-behaved, a good eater and thankfully has the constitution of a Sperm Whale.
But this time a day or so into my care-giving, I noticed the pump was not working.
Fishy wasn’t getting filtered, oxygenated water.
My little charge.
I worried that if I didn’t change the water, he would die.
With my track record of late, I worried if I changed his water, he would die.
My neighbors were having repairs done on their house while they travelled. I became tight with the workmen. While they plastered and painted, I fretted to them to look in on him, for heavens sake quit feeding him so much and run over the minute he starts to list.
On a business trip, my friend spoke at a week-long conference. In the middle of all that, we exchanged 100 hundreds of emails. A blow-by-blow of Fishy’s health.
After she gave the go ahead to change the water, I did so.
Fishy lives today.
If I got so worked up about a fish living in a murky 9 x 9 inch tank, how must God care for us?
Poor guy, little did he know how hard I worked and worried. All he knew was that it was getting harder and harder to breathe.
For moments in life, I have labored as that goldfish.
Surely someone watched over me. Standing outside my tank…peering in.
Have you ever had a trauma pet-sitting?
