Category: Pets

Except for one year—1993—I've owned a freshwater aquarium in one form or another since I was a child. About three weeks ago I made a decision that I had been questioning up until last night. No, I didn't get rid of my tank altogether; I downsized from a 29-gallon to a 17.

This 17-gallon, all-glass tank which had a built-in filtration system in the back had captured my eye on my last trip to The Ocean Floor.  Faced with an upcoming semi-annual "big clean" teardown of my existing tank, I decided it was time to pull the plug and downsize.

The moment I got it home, I had buyer's remorse. I hadn't realized exactly how much smaller it was. Still, I was determined to make it work. My old all glass 29-gallon tank was just getting too damn heavy to haul outside every six months to clean. (I could've gone with a new acrylic tank of the same size and a fraction of the weight—which I've owned in the past with great success—but the front of the acrylics always end up bowing out after a few years and they scratch so damn easily.)

After getting the 17 set up and the few remaining fish I had transferred into it, I knew I'd made a grave mistake. The 4-year-old red tail shark that I had raised from a tiny 2-inch juvenile to a 5-inch behemoth was definitely unhappy in the new surroundings.

After stewing over this for a week, I decided that if I wanted to keep the tank (and frankly there was no returning it at this point) I needed to let go of the shark. I transferred him into a big plastic bag and took him back to the Ocean Floor (where I'd purchased him initially), knowing that even if they didn't give me any money for the beast, at least he would end up going to a good home.

Turns out that once they saw him, I did get a store credit, which allowed me to buy a few smaller fish that are quite happy in these surroundings. The only problem remaining was that the water had gotten kind of cloudy and the tank was growing brown algae like crazy. A few days ago I decided what  I needed to do was tear the tank down, install the under-gravel filter from my old tank, and start fresh. (It had been my experience over the years that either an under-gravel or an external filter didn't work well enough on their own, but in combination guaranteed crystal clear water.)

I was not looking forward to this, despite the tank's much smaller size.

While I was out a few days ago getting anti-algae solution, I picked up a box of carbon filter media and when I got home threw one of the packs in the rear filter, hoping this would at least help somewhat with the water issue. To be honest I wasn't expecting much.

But then something happened. I don't know if it was the added filter pack or if the tank's nitrogen cycle finally kicked in, but since yesterday morning the water (even without an under-gravel filter) has been crystal clear. I'm taking a wait and see approach at this point, hoping that no further intervention will be required beyond normal maintenance until I do the "big" clean six months from now.

I was raised with dogs, but for nearly all my adult life I never really thought of myself as a dog person. My first non-aquatic pet was a cat I'd kidnapped from my tweeked out ex (who was planning on jetting off for Christmas and just leaving her outside for a week because he couldn't find her before heading to the airport). Sasha ended up becoming my charge because there was no way I was going to give her back to him since he obviously didn't give a shit about her.

I became deathly allergic to the little furball about three months after she moved in, but that didn't dissuade me from continuing to love and care for her for several more years. That's why they make inhalers, right?

She ended up living with me until she went to live with my mom when I—for a man—moved into an apartment that forbade pets. One of the dumbest things I'd ever done.

Sasha was my last mammalian pet until we rescued Sammy in 2014. I have to admit it was love at first sight. When we took in Ben's mom's one-eyed Shitzu about a year later, I confess I was completely smitten with both of them and in the intervening years definitely became a dog person—to the point that now when I see people with their dogs out an about I give out an involuntary, "Awww! So cute!"

I shudder to think of how many photos Ben has of me, passed out in my chair, snoring loudly, with one or both of them in my lap…

Funny how life takes you in directions you'd never expect.

Our dogs have always been relatively early risers, but over the last year or so it's gotten ridiculous. It started last summer when the older of the two dogs needed to go out much earlier than he had been needing. I guess that's the burden of a geriatric bladder.

In any case, their internal alarm clocks have slowly inched earlier from around 6 am (which coincided to my usual wake up time) to 5:30. I was thinking it was because it was getting light so much earlier, and hoped that things would return to normal as we headed back into the winter months.

Well, not only did that not happen, but their wake up time now averages 5 am. That's not a bad thing since I'm working again and need to be at work at 7:30. This morning (and a handful of times over the past few weeks) he was making it known that he needed to go out at 4:30. This is unacceptable, but since I didn't want him to pee on the bed (he can't jump down on his own to pee on one of the training mats), I reluctantly cast off the blanket, put on my socks, and let the both of them outside to do their business.

Unlike weekdays when they're up at 5, I did not immediately feed them breakfast when they came back in. Instead we all went back to bed and slept to a much more reasonable 8:30 am.

…and it was too cute not to post.

…and he was not happy about it.

But he came through with flying colors.

4 am this morning. I think there was a toy (not HIS, but the other doggie's) on the table that he had been obsessing over all evening.

Well, it's now two a.m. and despite the fact I was exhausted when I crawled into bed, after tossing and turning since midnight with absolutely no sleep in sight, I decided it was time to get up for a bit. I popped two of those little purple gel caps marketed as "night time sleep aids"—in reality absolutely nothing more than repackaged Benadryl—and hope they will make me sleepy enough to quiet my overactive thoughts. Yeah, I know I'll be useless tomorrow, but at this point it's worth it.

In the meantime, I haven't done a poll on this here blog thingie for a while, so why not?

If your furry little friends sleep with you, where do they sleep? I was raised that the goggies ALWAYS sleep ON the covers and NEVER under.