There will no longer be a fish tank in my classroom...

...Spike, the noblest of the four fish I received almost five years ago, has gone to the big fish bowl in the sky.

I will not label this Memory Eternal because he was a fish.  As unfortunate as it may be, animals do not have immortal souls.  No, they will not greet us in heaven.  There is no comfort in knowing we will see all of the pets we once loved on the other side.

At first, learning that animals do not have immortal souls (according to Orthodox Christian practice and theology -- and therefore I believe it) was heartbreaking.  Animals eyes, their reactions to us, all make us feel loved and as if they are capable of human love.

But they are not.  Nor would I want them to be capable of the sort of love I give my family and friends.  They might actually turn on me if they shared the emotions and connections we have.

While there is no doubt that there is some sort of emotional intelligence and general intellect within animals, it is fleeting.  Nothing is stored permanently in memory unless it is so heinously painful, the animal never does it again (in about 70% of cases I would argue some animals never learn).

With such temporary sojourns in the world of being, I think it best to treat animals with care.  If their life will be quick in the grand scheme of things, why not make it at pleasant as possible?

And so it was with my fish.

Many would argue that fish cannot feel, be attentive -- but they are wrong.  Every morning when I came into my classroom these past five years, the fish would swim around excitedly until I fed them.  When the morning bell rang, they would again swim in a frenzy as the students arrived.   When the students came near the tank, they were most attentive, swimming to the top quickly, fins flashing in urgency.

Yep, like all goldfish, they wanted more food.  But it was kind of sweet (they never got any extra treats).

Here is how it began: two students decided to liven up my classroom by purchasing me four goldfish.  These were not fancy goldfish; they were the "feeder" goldfish that come at 50 cents a pop.  So the girls spend about $2 plus some tax.  I shelled out around $30 over the following weeks getting the fish appropriate accommodations.  Then there was a contest in my homeroom to name them...

Here is a brief chronology:

Angel:  This fish was appropriately named because she 1) had pearly, almost iridescent scales and fins, and 2) died in the first week.  I think I either flushed her or chucked her into the bushes outside my window.  It is a tricky thing to tell the gender of a fish, but let's just say she was a girl because that is how my students treated her.

Saltine:  This fish was next to die (three years later) -- and of unknown causes.  He just started floating upside down one day, his pale orange belly up in contrast to the normal bright orange scales we saw every day.  The next day he stopped breathing.  I buried him in the bushes.

Twinkle Toes:  In spite of the name, this fish had only fins, no toes.  He was orange with white spots.  He was my "Miracle Fish".  My second year of teaching, there was a horrible outbreak of scale rot.  The two other fish managed to recover -- Twinkle Toes did not.  He floated at the top of the tank, white belly up, still breathing and (I think) having small seizures.

So I called the nearest Petco and explained the symptoms of my fish.  The guy on the phone told me my fish was food and I should just let it die.  

>:(  

{yes, I am still bitter...}

After giving him a piece of my mind, I hung up the phone.  Petco my @ss -- these people care more about money than animals!

Then I called a fish store near my house (on the advice of my husband who heard the tearful tale of how the Petco guy said my fish was food) and was very emotional in describing the situation with Twinkle Toes.  The man who answered the phone at the fish store was very good at calming me down, talking me thorough the steps for setting up a hospital tank as well as doses of fish medication and food.  I followed his advice, though he had told me at the end of it all he would be surprised if Twinkle Toes would make it.

I was undeterred and perhaps it a bit too emotional about this fish, but I went into full time prayers for Twinkle Toes.  I placed an icon of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker near his tank because St. Juliana of Lazarevo used to pray to him for help.  I lit candles, said prayers most of the evening, and the next day after my vigil, Twinkle Toes was swimming in his hospital bowl and was pleased to join the other fish a few days later.  He had lost a good amount of his fins and could never swim straight, but he was alive.

The year he got ill, the year I kept vigil, the auction project for seventh grade was to create a screen of Milagros.  Each child was asked to write a short bit about a miracle they had witnessed and draw a scene in tin that the room parents would then attach to a frame to create a screen.

Milagros these are little tin or metal pictures of what ailement you have that you would like healed and you can attach them to a retablo (or icon) of who you are asking intercession from (in the case of Saints or the Virgin) or praying to (in the case of Christ or the whole Trinity) -- it's a Mexican thing as far as I can tell.

While the students (and perhaps the parents) did not quite get it, I chose Twinkle Toes as my miracle.  I drew a fish in some weeds and waves for the water.  

I did not do a scene about me surviving breast cancer because...well, what do you think that Milagro would have looked like? Plus I was still struggling with why I survived. 

So, Twinkle Toes was my miracle and I am thankful to St. Nicholas for answering my prayer, and the Theotokos for her intercessions.  And if I am forgetting any other Saints I prayed to, forgive me and accept my gratitude.  Most of all I am grateful to the Physician of all souls and Our Creator for letting me see this miracle and know your love for mankind and the bits of creation you gave us.

This past year, Twinkle Toes really struggled with his fins -- he had grown in those three years and only his back fin was long enough to support his girth. He would swim straight as an arrow when it was feeding time, otherwise, he hung around upside down or in the plastic plants in the tank for balance.  One day, he didn't flip right side up for food and shortly after he stopped breathing.  I buried him along side Saltine.

Spike:  He was my favorite fish.  When he first came to my classroom, he was smaller than the other fish and a greenish black.  Over time, he grew larger and orange!  He was cool -- hard core and not susceptible to fin rot at all. 

I think he died of loneliness.  He didn't notice when the other two had left the tank -- I think he was quite comfortable with his bachelor pad (as it were -- not like he had any prospects swimming around).  But, at the end of the school year when I was not there for regular visits or the kids weren't around to greet him, he got lonely.  

I needed to go to school yesterday to pick up somethings and meet a colleague about some materials, and I found him, at the bottom of the tank, auto-feeder pointlessly whirling to feed him new flakes.  

My heart was heavy -- that he had to be alone when he died, that the loneliness killed him, and that he, my favorite and last of my fish...that he and I never got to say goodbye.  I so much wanted to make his sojourn on earth pleasant, and I feel guilty that he died from lack of companionship, something I could have easily have given him.

I know it sounds cheesy, but I will definitely miss him.  I will miss all their fins, all their company, and all the soothing water sounds that come with owning a fish.

And as Spike is my last, I hope to never have animals in my classroom again.  I don't think I could stand once more becoming so attached.

This was Twinkle Toes, circa 2005:
I took these pictures for a geometry project I was modeling for my students.

This is Spike (orange one) and Twinkle Toes (white and orange guy) - I think Saltine must have been out of the tank by then...and yes I kept that icon of St. Nicholas by the tank at all times.