Once upon a time, I was a serious fish geek. You know the type, with tanks of all sizes and descriptions bubbling away in every corner of the house. Those days are long behind me, but there’s still one relic of that time - Fish. Fish is a fully grown African lungfish who has been with me since he was a 7/8" hatchling more than 20 years ago. Since then, he has transformed into a three foot long eel-like behemeth as thick as a man’s arm, capable of living out of water for hours and traveling long distances on land. He is also armed with needle-sharp teeth designed for stripping flesh and muscle to the bone in a fraction of a second, and jaws capable of nipping off human digits without strain. If he’s hungry, he stands on his tail and bangs open the lid of his tank - despite it being weighted with bricks - over and over until I provide him with piscine sacrifices. In short, although he’s no Carcharodon megalodon, an agitated Fish is not something even an experienced keeper confronts lightly.
So there I was, watching television and quietly minding my own business, when I heard thunderous splashes coming from Fish’s tank. I figured after he rocketed around his surroundings like Secretariat a few times, he’d realize no food was forthcoming and he’d settle down. More fool I. I turned around just in time to watch him delicately push the entire aquarium cover to one side and slither to the floor with the grace of a python descending from a tree.
Fortunately some brightly colored objects attracted Fish’s attention long enough for my father and I to round up the glass tank lid and a large box to herd him into. Fish, as one might expect, was none too thrilled with this plan.
So how did this fearsome predator react to the sight of two even larger predators intent on making him do something he didn’t want to do? Did he, perhaps, threaten us with those powerful jaws? Elude us with his startling speed? Thrash wildly to make his slimy form harder to grab? Oh no.
He puffed up his head and … emitted the loudest farting noise I have ever heard. No elephant could out-trumpet, or out-fart, Fish. My father and I dissolved in laughter. Apparently this wasn’t the result he was hoping for, so he tried again. And again. Do you have any idea how hard it is to concentrate on corralling a wayward fish to the sound of that racket? Come to think of it, perhaps there was more method to Fish’s plan than I realized…
After a couple of daredevil attempts, we did successfully wrangle him back into his tank. The box is the worse for wear - remember what I said about those teeth? - but Fish appears unscathed and the humans are fine, if occasionally prone to outbursts of maniacal laughter.
