Fish Gangs

I fear my fish have fallen in with the wrong crowd.

Serpa Tetra's

Everything was fine at first. We started the tank with four serpa tetra and aside from my concerns that the little guy wasn't getting his fair share of the food, everything was going along--forgive me--swimmingly.

CorydoraThen last weekend we introduced two Corydora (cory) catfish into the tank. Corys are bottomdwellers and peaceful souls--the shy flower of the fish garden. There was little interaction between the tetras and the corys but everyone seemed to roam freely.

Being bottomdwellers, there are little wafers that may be dropped in the water that sink instantly to the bottom of the tank where the corys are likely to be found. We dropped a wafer yesterday with no complaints. But this evening when we dropped a wafer, turf wars broke out.

The tetra's started singing, "Gee, Officer Krupke!" as they took turns lunging for the wafer. One little guy actually yanked the wafer out of the mouth of the cory. He then darted away, confirming my suspicion that they're not hungry---this behavior is just a game.

"Hey," I said, tapping the glass. "We will have no gang activity in our hood."

"Our hood?" asked Blair.

"Tank. Whatever. I won't raise fish bullies."

We peered in at the fish. One cory was hiding in his standard spot amid the java grass, adopting the attitude of "If I can't see you, you can't see me." But the other cory wasn't backing down. He didn't fight the tetra. Instead, he circled back around to the wafer and nibbled until it was yanked from him again.

How does one discipline fish? I suppose I'll just chalk tonight up to foolish behavior.

But if I catch any of those guys humming, "Maria" or "I Feel Pretty," I'm going in.

Cats, Pills, & Injuries That May Require Medical Attention

Scene: Harris household, 5 a.m. The cats are at different windows, staring with wonder at the white stuff that covers the ground. The fish circle lazily in their tank (fish are hard to impress). Husband and wife stand with arms interwoven around upper bodies, speaking in soft whispers as they stare at the fresh new world of winter whiteness.

"Ready?" I ask, and Blair nods. Softly, so as not to disturb the scene of domestic tranquility taking place, we glide over to where Olivia, our tabby, is staring out the window.

"See the snow, baby?" I ask. "Isn't it pretty?" My kitten turns to me with wide eyes filled with wonder. I give Blair the nod. He leaps onto the couch and grabs a startled cat.

"Got 'er!" he yells, quickly followed by, "Wait, no, wait...AAAaugh!!!"

Cat and man flail across the room. "It's time... to... take... your... pill!", Blair gasps as he throws himself on top of what is now a whirling dervish of fur and claws. You can almost hear Olivia's response in her muffled meows: "YOU... CAN'T... MAKE ME!"

My job is to stand by, pill in hand, so that when he does catch her, I can pry open her mouth and stuff the pill to the back of her throat. Neither of us enjoy this process.  Plus, I'm feeling terribly guilty this morning as I chopped garlic for last night's dinner and my hands now smell like a vampire hunter's bordello.

"Do you have her?" I ask. Blair pops out from beneath the couch and gives me a dirty look. "Does it look like I have her?" he asks.

We finally manage to subdue her and bring her into the kitchen. I'd read that if you give your cat the pill in the same place each time, they will come to associate being in that place with "pill time" and will quickly learn to cooperate, knowing the quicker they take their medicine, the quicker it will be over. Right. Who writes these advice tips--monkeys on typewriters? Dog lovers?  If anything, Olivia revs up her attempts to flee once we reach the kitchen.

"Okay pumpkin," I coo. "Real easy this time. One, two, three and down.  Mommy loves you. Mommy would never hurt you. Mommy--"

"Will you just give her the damn pill?" says Blair.

Right. I lean over and open her mouth, just like my vet showed me. I drop the pill in.

"Is it in?" asks Blair.

"It's in," I say, "Wait. I think it's in." I peer inside the throat. "It might be in."

He is struggling to hold Olivia, whose fur becomes eel-like in its slipperiness when she wants to escape. "In or out?" he heaves, trying for a new grip. Too late! She's sensed her chance. She takes a swipe at his arm, leaps over his shoulder, lands on the floor and bounds away.

Blair looks at me. "I'm pretty sure it was in," I say.  He goes to the sink to wash his hands. I walk down the hall.

"Are you okay, baby?" I call.

"I'm fine," he responds.

I think it best not to mention that I wasn't talking to him.

Meanwhile, we have another 8 days of cat pills to go. Pray for us.

Dena's Team

I am going to kill  my neighbor. He went to sign our "Supergeezer" team (see prior entry here) up for the Valentine's Day Massacre Marathon Relay and had to list a team name.

"I called it 'Dena's Team,'" he informed me during our run the next day.

"You what?" I squeaked.

He shrugged. "I didn't want to use my name."

Nice. So now I'm the leader, at least in name, of a Supergeezer team. And my competitive streak has kicked in. We can't win this marathon relay by any stretch. There are some people running the marathon solo who will come in under 3 hours. But I wonder how many Supergeezer teams there are and if we have a chance of beating them? It would be nice to be the TOP Supergeezer team. If my name's on the team, we're going to aim for an award.

Bring it, folks.

Reflections of the Heart, Foster Care Art & Essay Contest

It's amazing how the world has a way of circling back around. About 5 or 6 years ago, when I had my first itchings toward being a writer, I became friendly with a woman who was a volunteer at the Women's Resource Center. She wrote for a newspaper and when I told her I wanted to write but was nervous about the interview process, she let me shadow her on an interview and showed me how to structure an article. She edited the very first newspaper article I ever wrote (about the Women's Resource Center) and we've stayed in touch on and off through the years, more off than on recently.

Still, I was delighted when she tracked me down a few weeks ago and asked if I would be a facilitator for the Foster Friends of North Carolina's first ever art and essay contest. On a weekend in February, I'll meet for two hours with kids ages 10-18 and lead them through some creative writing exercises and hopefully help them mold an essay for the contest.  Volunteers from the Greensboro Jr. Women's League will be on hand to sit one-on-one with the kids and assist them, if needed.

They also want me to talk about being a writer and what it's like to write a book and the opportunities that can present when you learn to express yourself on the page. I think the day will be a lot of fun but I must admit I'm a little nervous. I'm going to work to find some fast, fun exercises that I hope will get the kids engaged and thinking/laughing.  I just don't want them to be bored or feel overwhelmed. I'd love for them to keep trying the writing exercises even outside of the workshop.

I'm hitting up my writer friends for ideas, but if any of you reading this have any ideas on what might work with the kids, please don't hesitate to post here or e-mail me at ddharris@triad.rr.com.  I've got about a week and a half to figure out what I'll be using in my workshop.

If anyone wants to read more about the contest, log onto www.FFNC.org.