If Only If
We have a pair of Sunset Angels in our 75 gallon community tank, and they decided to lay eggs together on a back wall. No big deal, our Cory Cats lay eggs all the time. The other tank mates thank them for the caviar and life moves on.
We assumed as much with our Angels. But this pair seemed determined to keep their clutch, fending off the parrot fish and Rainbow Gourami with the best of their ability, until of course they couldn’t and the eggs became a midnight feeding frenzy.
Still it’s the circle of life or cycle of strife or wrinkle in time I suppose. In any event the female fish was unprepared to let go of her maternal instincts or her ocd behavior. No judgement. We are all driven by forces that feel stronger than our common sense now and zen. For her part, she spied a small batch of Cory Cat eggs on the opposite side of the tank. They were likely unfertilized, had no chance of survival, but nonetheless she took it upon herself to fan the eggs with her front fins.
The large body angler looked a bit like a T-Rex bobbing up and down with her little front fins clapping at the eggs on the glass. For those of us trying unsuccessfully to not anthropomorphize the incident it was pathetically sad to watch.
For two days she fanned the eggs trying to get her tank mate to come and help her, as he would have, had it been his offspring on the glass. He would sometimes go over and hover for a moment … and she would dart around looking for food or rest. But then he’d wonder off and she would dash back seemingly angry at him but taking up her futile post at the Cory patch.
Eventually the eggs died and she went back to her life without encumbrance. Until another two weeks went by and Mrs and Mr Angelfish were spawning again. This time they chose the heater on the back wall. It seemed like a piss poor choice at that, but my redneck pro hobbyist assures me lots of YouTubers have successful egg hatching on heaters.
Despite the location, location, location the eggs were once again a delicacy for the other tank mates. Watching the two angels try and fend off attacks was heartbreaking. So much so, that I agreed to review my NO MORE TANKS rule that is carved in slate that goes into every tank, and my husband bought a 40 gallon “breeders tank” for the persistent pair. It must be something about the dimensions of the new aquarium, but when it arrived all I could think was gosh that’s HUGE.
But my macgyver found the perfect spot for the tank in our walk in closet and fixed it up picture perfect for the couple who would soon be living la vida solo yolo fomo new life outside of the community tank.
Often in our lives as we look at our current situation, we think … if only xyz was different .. THEN my life would be easier. Of course xyz could be a job, paycheck, car, an ailment, a lover, a cat, baby, or the electric company to get their shit together and stop holding millions of people on a short leash by pulling the power in a political power-play to avoid paying with their profits to repair a deferred maintenance problem. We believe if that one thing was different then our life would be decidedly “better”. And yet, time and again we grab the brass ring of our sugarplum dreams and somehow in time we find our one-trick pony brains fall back into the only-if pattern of thinking that life would somehow be better, bigger, brighter, bolder and more delicious if the current state of what is was no more.
It’s a cycle you see. The mind holds up a carrot and we want to rush by the salad bar to the dessert tray because there is happiness in an eclair. Which of course there can be, I was asked recently if I could re-create some of my minimally sweet desserts from back in my beancake days. Not everything holds tru to the test of time, but a good blackbean rasperry torte well that’s timeless if only because my son has epicurean game.
So as you might guess, even with the new “breeders tank” and removed from the caviar lifestyle community members, the Angels have been unable to raise a successful brood. Not without valiant effort, pretty much like clockwork every two weeks. But thus far the eggs never make it past two days. Perhaps the male is young and incapable of fertilizing the clutch or maybe despite their displays they are in fact two females, something the googleUniverse says is a possibility. Perhaps one day it will work out for them … or not. There is no telling.
As the onlooker, it’s possible to step back and just watch whatever it is unfold, by design. However when it comes to our own nestegg it may be more difficult to detach from the story we have attached to the plot line. If we get stuck in the narrative of if-only-if we miss the opportunities to be bound by bliss with every step we take in paradise underneath our feet. Or fins, I suppose. If not a shaggy dog story, perhaps it is about the one big fish that got away.
