Flap...The Update

 

Remember this guy from a couple of posts ago?

 

 

 When last we left off, we were feeding it every twenty minutes like clockwork. The days were a blur. I was so...so...so very tired. The wife did some of the feedings. I even taught the kids to feed it and caught short naps during the day.

Every night when we sent the kids to sleep, we had them say goodbyes to the little thing figuring it would not survive until morning. Yet every morning, little flap would greet us with little chirps and gaping mouth, just waiting for breakfast.

So I took pictures as Flap changed each day. And with each passing day I got more and more attached to the little guy (or girl). So here, in pictures, is a little log of our miracle bird...

Day 3

 

Day 4



 

Day 5.

.. seriously...lots of growth overnight!

 

Day 6.

Growing like a weed.



 

Day 7.

What a difference a week makes!



 

Day 9.

Snuggly

 

Day 11.

Fluffy and snuggly



 

 

Day 13

Still sitting still for feedings



Only two weeks old!



 

Day 18

Last day Flap would sit on my hand for feeding



Day 21

Feeling all grown up, so Flap prefers to be fed standing on something other than me.



Flap turned five weeks old today. I have a great many more pictures, but I won't post them here.  We still don't know if it is male or female, and won't until it gets it's adult plumage. I'm not sure when that will be, but our family is split on what we think it is. I call it a he, kids think it might be a she. I guess we will see!

Rookie Mistakes, or How To Kill Your Fish Without Trying Hard

My father  and my wife chuckle at me for reasearching the heck out of things that interest me.  I bought the Bison Producers Handbook to learn more about buffalo farming. I practically got a doctorate in metalurgy when I started making knives.  And I can tell you more about glass and its properties than a normal human should.

So it came as no surprise to either of them that when we got the fishtank, I was online for a long time doing my homework. How to set up the tank. Best fish for beginners. Behavior patterns for the fish we got. That sort of thing.

But even with all of the learnin', I still made a dumb mistak that cost the lives of six of our fish over the weekend.

Bear, the Variatus died a while ago.  He never did seem quite right.  But, like all good fish owners should, I have been having my water tested every week (FREE at Petco and other pet stores that sell fish!) just to make sure that it is "healthy" water.

Here's a short course. A fishtank is a mini-ecosystem.  Fish poop and uneaten food breaks down into ammonia, which is harmful to the fish.  The ammonia breaks down into nitrites, also harmful to the fish.  Nitrites break down into nitrates over time, posing little risk to the fish.  Thanks to filters and plants, the ammonia and nitrite levels can be kept down in safe quantities.  This whole process is known in the aquarium world as the nitrogen cycle. There is an excellnt explanation of what sorts of filtration is available for tanks and why they are important here.

You know... if you like to learn more than you need to... like me.

Anyway. Last week I took some water to be tested and was told that the ammonia was starting to rise.  Not dangerous, but rising. As to be expected after fish are added to the tank.  But I worried about it, and the guy at the fish store told me that I could buy a little bag of rocks specially treated to absorb ammonia it I wanted to.  Just put it behind the charcoal in the filter and I'd be good to go.

I just needed to know what kind of filter I had.  Which I didn't. So I guessed.  ROOKIE MISTAKE #1. Don't go with a best guess.

The ammonia absorbing rock pouch I got for a little under two bucks ended up not just dropping in behind my charcoal filter.  It was too big.  But the water NEEDED these little rocks! Thought I.  So I cut the bag open and carefully poured them in behind the charcoal filter.  SUCCESS! Thought I. And I promptly forgot about them.

Then came the weekend.  The Tiger Squadron was acting funny.  Always pointing their heads down. Not as zippy as they were before.  I was a little worried, but had read that sometimes when they swam head down like that they were doing a mating dance sorta thing.  But all four?  All the time?  Weird.

The Cherry Barbs also looked a little funny.  Like they had dust on them.  I found nothing about that on the internet. They seemed otherwise just fine. Darting about the tank as usual.  I went to bed on Friday night a little concerned, with thoughts to keep a watch on them.  But the water was fine...right? I JUST had it tested a couple days prior.

In the morning, all of the fish were there. I gave them a little food and noticed that the Tigers were not as hyper about feeding as they had been.

A couple hours later, I noticed that one of the Tigers was stuck against the intake tube of the filter.  This was not good.   Upon closer inspection, he was dead.

Crap. Thought I.

Then I noticed that two of the other tigers were resting dead on the bottom, hidden behind plants.

Crap! Crap! Thought I.

The kiddos were a bit upset, and we had a small funeral and burial at sea for our now departed fish friends. (That involves a few kind words, a salute, and a final flush)

I thought that perhaps I had overfed them, and felt guilty at their passing.  I had given the tank a few freeze dried bloodworms, as from my reading I learned that fish like a little variation in their diet.  Maybe there was something in the bloodworms?

A couple of hours passed, and then I noticed Flashy, the big Cherry Barb, hiding very still behind one of the plants.  Very, very still.

Crap!!

And where was Shiny? The other Cherry Barb?  I couldn't see him anywhere.

I fished out Flashy and we had another fish funeral just before the kiddos went to bed.

After they were tucked in, I went back to the tank to find Shiny.  It came down to me physically moving plants and decor around, and still I did not see him.  It was very puzzling.  I knew he was dead.  The remaining fish were very agitated with me pawing around in the tank. If he were alive, he would have been a swimmin'.

Later that evening as I told my wife about the big kill off, I was searching the tank again and finally found him. Partially hidden beneath some rock.

Another Crap. Another fish funeral.  I went to bed with two Gold Barbs, a Glass Catfish, and the lone survivor Tiger Barb swimming around the tank.

Nobody died on Sunday, and I thought perhaps we were out of the woods.  But when I went to bed that night, the last Tiger was swimming with his head down.

When I woke, the last Tiger had died.

Another fish funeral.  This was getting ridiculous.  As I left to take the kiddos to school, I also took another sample of water to be tested.

This time, the ammonia reading came back as very high, and the nitrite level was the highest the chart could detect.  Somehow in a few days the water had turned toxic!  But how?  I ran through all of the things I had done with the fish guy.  I had added a little water, but it had been sitting out for a few days and should have been fine. I had just changed the charcoal filter when I put the ammonia rocks in. I knew that levels could get wonky during the start up phase of the tank, but in just a few days like that? We were both puzzled. Even the ammonia catching rocks should have helped.

I bought new food, a tank cleaning device for the rocks, and a couple of live plants to help bring the levels down.  The fish guy recommended doing a cleaning and a water change to help bring the levels down as well.  So I raced home to doctor the tank.  After I cleaned the rocks and replaced 20% of the water as recommeded I decided to check the filter again.

I opened the cover and was horrified to find that the ammonia catching rocks had actually blocked all but about 10% of the charcoal filter, and unfiltered water was flowing over a little partition directly back into the tank.

Yep.  That would do it.  ROOKIE MISTAKE #2 - use the products as they are intended until you know what the heck you are doing.

I cleaned out the filter. no more ammonia rocks, and wonder of wonders, the filter has started working properly.  In a day or two I am taking another water sample for testing. As recommended by the fish guy.

I am hoping that Goldie and Blondie and Boney will make it.  Though Goldie has been swimming with his head down today.  Which worries me.

I am hoping I don't make any more dumb mistakes that cost the life of my fish.

I am hoping those little fish can forgive my ignorance when I see them again at the rainbow bridge.

Sorry fish. I really am. I learned a ton from this tragedy, and will not make those mistakes again.

RIP fish friends.

More Later

New Beginnings

The last gift Mom and Dad gave to our family  for Christmas this year was a fish tank.  It was in keeping with the fish theme of Dad's birthday, I think.  Way back in early December when I asked Dad what he wanted for his birthday on the 16th of that month, he said a fish tank with some beautiful Guppies.  When Dad was out of the room once I asked Mom if I could go pick something up from her.

     "A fish tank and Guppies." She answered without hesitation.

Great minds think alike, as we had already bought a tank and were in the process of getting it all set up for his birthday.  So we agreed that the tank would be from Mom and the Guppies from us.  It worked out great, and Dad had a tank of finned friends to watch at the hotel.

Dad's Birthday Fish

We moved Mom down to hospice on the 21st, and in celebrating Christmas while we could, we three Shaffer kids and our respective families were gifted with not just tanks, but supplies to go in them, and even a gift card to stock it with some fish.  In short, everything we would need except the water.

In our family at least, we are so thankful for this final gift from Mom.  We haven't had a fish since Sparkle the Beta died, and have talked about getting a tank on and off since then.  As we were setting it up, getting the water ready to receive fish, placing the rocks and the plants and all things just so, I read up on the care and maintenance of tropical freshwater fish.  It's not really that hard.  A few extra chores every week or three.  Keep them fed. Pretty simple stuff.

Still, before we got the actual fish in the tank, I was thinking about the work behind being a responsible pet owner. More things to learn, more stuff to do.  Maybe I could get the kiddos trained up quickly to do what needed to be done.

Yesterday we were finally ready to go pick out some fish.  I was thinking about Guppies and Danios, since I had read up on those and knew they were good first fish.  Of course the kiddos wanted entirely different fish.  Thankfully these are also pretty hardy fish for newbies.  Hopefully we won't lose too many.  So, let me introduce the newest members of the house of Shaffer North...

Boney

Or Bones, as I've been calling him, was the first fish the kids picked out. He is a Glass Catfish, also known as a Ghost cat.  A see through fish.  If there had been more than the one, we would have come home with a tank full.  It seems a little creepy at first. Skeletal fish and all.  But he kind of grows on you after awhile.

Bear

So named for the blue and orange of the Chicago football team. Bear is a Blue Fin Variatus, and a shy and mellow one. He feeds at the top while everyone else is fighting for the food that the filter water pushes down into the tank.

Flashy and Shiny

Flashy is the larger of this pair of Cherry Barbs.

Goldie

Sweet Pea and the Boyo both picked a Gold and a Cherry barb. Goldie is one of the Gold Barbs.

Blondie

The Other Gold Barb

Tiger Squadron

We have four Tiger Barbs, which we can't really tell apart.  So we call them the Tiger Squadron, or just The Tigers for short... because it sounds cool.

Our new fish friends seem to be adjusting to their new habitat pretty well. They are all around an inch long, except Boney, who is a two inch monster.  They can all double in size though.  We'll see how it goes.  We all have enjoyed sitting around and watching the fish.  It sounds dull, but they really are fun to watch. It reminds me of the hours I spent watching fish for animal behavior classes back in high school, and I can recall some of the things I learned way back then.  But I do love to sit and watch them swim.

Relaxing.  Peaceful.  A reminder that even though Mom is gone from here, life is going on.  It is healing, for me at least, to see the fish swimming, to think of Mom reminding me to "Kick, Kick, Kick!" her way of encouraging me to keep on going.

I miss her a lot.  The fish are a reminder of new beginnings.  Remember the past and enjoy the memories, but don't be so tied to the past that you can't move forward and do new things.  That's the lesson I get from this gift anyway.  I think she would have liked that.

More Later

Looking for the Good

This morning my delightful wife let me go back to bed for a little bit. As I was settling in, I heard a familiar thump on the front windows in the living room.  It sounded like a bird had mistaken our windows for a pathway to shelter.

"Honey" Came the voice of my other half from the living room.

So I headed out into the cold and looked around.  Sure enough, I found a little bird lying on it's side under our car in the driveway. I scooped it out by the feet.  Limp, floppy head and wings, no muscle tension.  It was dead.  I felt a little bad for it, as I do for all birds that die, as I am a bird kind of guy.  But fortunately it was garbage day, and I could hear the trucks coming up the hill.  Our garbage is sent to a central facility where it is burned to make electricity for the government buildings downtown.  So I figured I'd let the poor creature be cremated instead of tossing it into the woods to be eaten by scavengers.

I was about three feet from the trash can when something happened.  I can't even say what it was exactly.  A small twitch of the leg I was holding perhaps.  A shift in the wing that had just enough energy to get to my fingers.  I don't know.  But I held it up in front of my eyes again because of some slight movement, and I questioned my initial diagnosis of death.  It still hung limply in my fingers, but I saw a tiny flutter in its eyelid.  So I turned it upright very gently and cupped it in my hand.

Instead of the head flopping over limply as I expected, it opened its eyes halfway and settled into a little ball of hurt bird.

"Ah, crap." I thought to myself as I turned and started walking back into the house. There was nothing I could do but make it comfortable. I didn't know if it would live or die, but I couldn't just leave it in the cold, rainy day to suffer.

When I was in high school, I raised wild mallard ducks and Canada geese as a Konrad Lorenz type experiment on imprinting.  As my little ducklings grew, I helped them learn to swim, and eventually helped them fly by running down the long hill in our backyard, flapping my arms wildly as they followed along copying me.  They were extremely excited the first time they actually took to the sky, and would fly circles around our house quacking loudly before coming back to roost.  They all flew away and joined up with the flocks heading south that fall.

Anyway, during the raising of them, I noticed one day that one of them couldn't walk anymore.  When it tried, it looked like it had just played a rough game of dizzy izzy, and eventually it just sat there quacking at the others as they swam around and plucked at things on the lawn.  I took my sick bird to the nature center to see if they could help.  Along with learning that raising wild birds was pretty much illegal, I learned that sometimes when ducks are splashing around in hyper mode in the water during bath time, they might hit their heads on rocks or other ducks, etc. This impact can stun them.  So I took my duck home to watch it, and sure enough, within an hour or so he was back on his feet, flapping around and behaving like the rest of the flock.

So, with the help of my wonderful wife, we crafted a little basket cage for this little brown bird and I set it next to my bed to observe it while I napped.  There were two very good reasons to keep it near me in the bedroom.  First, the dogs were VERY interested in the little critter, and I didn't think it needed the stress of giant predator looking things while it was resting.  Second, my little Sweet Pea was also VERY interested in it.  And while I was hoping it was just stunned and would recover, I thought that she didn't need the stress of watching the bird die if that was what was going to happen.

I couldn't drift off to sleep very well, as every time I closed my eyes I would say a little prayer for the bird resting on my nightstand, and as I got drowsy my eyes would open a little to see if it was still breathing.

So, as I am a sucker for injured critters, I naturally became very attached very quickly to this little guy.  I knew if I woke up and it was dead that I was headed for a downer of a day.  It was a very pretty little bird.  About the size of a Robin, brown back and head with a white chest that had brown speckles on it.  The tail was reddish tinted, and the beak was more pointy than thick.  I didn't know what it was.  But I eventually drifted off, asking Tunkashilia to help my little winged relative, either by getting it up and around, or ending its suffering quickly.

I awoke to a flutter of wings and looked over to the little cage we had built.  There was my little ward, standing up, looking around with darting head movements like a bird should, and trying to squeeze through the little squares in the basket covering it! 

"Well hello!" I said. And I swear that bird stopped fluttering around and just stared at me for about thirty seconds.

So I got out of bed and took the cage out to show the girls.  My daughter was as excited as I that it was still alive, and I suggested that she come outside with me to let it go.  So we headed out to the back porch, opened up the makeshift cage, and I gently lifted it out.  I was hoping that it was well enough to really fly again.  I was pretty confident after observing it for a minute or two in the bedroom that it was strong enough, but there was only one way to find out.

With another quick prayer of thanks, I opened my hand.  My little friend flew away and up the hill into the trees! I'm certain that it preferred the trees to the cage, even though it's cold and icy rain outside, and warm and dry in our bedroom.

I cannot describe why I am so giddy about the outcome of this little adventure.  I did nothing except bring it into a warm, dry space.  But for some reason, my day got immensely brighter because of watching a little bird fly from my hands into the trees.  I realized just before I sat down to write that even when life is (metaphorically or literally) cold and rainy, if you look for the good, even a little bit can go a really long way.  My life right now is hectic, but wonderfully so.  But this little bit of good made my day so much better!

I've been focusing more on looking for the good these days.  Good memories from years gone by.  Good events happening in the day. And my soul is much happier because of it.  Go find your good.  You won't be disappointed!

Oh, and although I inexplicably failed to take pictures of the little bird, I am quite confident it was a Hermit Thrush, based mostly on the red tail.   It's always a happy day when a bird flies free.

More Later