I did not want a fish. In fact, I distinctly remember saying “no” when asked if our menagerie could possibly be expanded to include a fish.

The only thing fish are good for is for occupying the time of people who have nothing better to do than clean fishbowls, analyze the pH balance of water, and stare at an animal who does nothing but swim in circles all day.

I had fish as a kid. Many fish. Not all at the same time. And let me tell you something—when it comes to suicidal tendencies, lemmings ain’t got nothin’ on goldfish. I guess it’s possible that they’re not really suicidal, but merely delusional, convinced that they’re Orcas frolicking in the open sea. Or else they’re just stupid.

And really, what is the purpose of fish? Our pasture animals earn their keep by playing the role of hooved lawnmowers. The horse can be ridden, and the llama–well, the llama lends itself to the whole aura of eccentricity I’ve got going on, don’tcha think?

But a fish…well, face it—God made little fish to be food for bigger fish. And he made bigger fish to be coated in panko and fried to a nice, golden brown.

Evidently, the conversation in the pet store went something like this:

“Gee, aren’t those betta fish pretty, Daddy?”

“Yeah–wow! Look at this one on the top shelf!”

His first mistake was picking up the bowl and bringing it down where she could see it. His second mistake started around the time he let her pick out a container of fish food, a square fish bowl (so she can actually watch her fish swim around in squares all day…), and a plastic plant, and ended shortly after the words “will this be cash or charge?”

So when she ran into the living room to tell me Topanashi seemed lethargic (yeah, I asked myself the same thing. Evidently it had something to do with the fact that he wasn’t swimming around in squares anymore), my first thought was, “I wonder if betta fish are septic safe?” But she was crying, and regardless of how I feel about the stupid, useless fish, she is my baby (the 14 year-old, not the fish).

So I googled his symptoms, which were basically not swimming around in squares and bulging eyes.

The fish has popeye. Contrary to what you’re thinking, the cure has nothing to do with spinach. It entails keeping the water extra clean and giving the fish…ampicillin. That’s right. Our fish needs a prescription antibiotic.

I happen to think giving any sort of medical treatment to a $3 fish is ridiculous. The 14 year-old tells me that our neighbor the vet once performed open-heart surgery on a betta whose owner told him to do “whatever he needed to save his life.”  He operated, the fish lived, and the owner happily forked over $300 for the procedure.

Personally, I wouldn’t spend $300 on a fish if it were served in a Remy Martin reduction on a bed of truffles and topped with caviar.

I’m going to the fish store to pick up the antibiotic in the morning….

Tags: ampicillin, antibiotic, betta, caviar, fish, fishbowl, food chain, open heart surgery, panko, popeye, Remy Martin, truffles