It should be noted that we have added to our zoo.
Goldie and Spot have moved in.
We’re not really sure what Goldie’s true talents are, but Spot is a bona fide champion.
The boy and his buddy, Carter, have youth group on Wednesday nights, and last night was the grand Goldfish Racing Event. I had no idea how goldfish were raced, so I hopped on over to the church to check it out.
A six-foot-long piece of gutter (you know, that goes along the edge of your roof?), was filled with water and placed on a table. Two little goldfish were plopped in at one end, which was conveniently labeled, “Start.” The lid to a tub of margarine worked nicely as the starting gate. When the signal was given, the gate was yanked out, and the fish were instructed to swim — swim their little hearts out! — until they reached the opposite end of the six-foot gutter.
Remarkably enough, it was labeled as, “Finish.”
The kids were broken into groups of three or four, and they were instructed to come up with a cheer for their fish. Carter and the boy’s cheer was quite elaborate, as it went exactly like this: “Go, Spot! Go, Spot! Go, Spot!” Carter and the boy don’t mince words. They’re also not known for their cheerleading skillz.
No matter. Spot worked the gutter like he was born for it.
We had a few moments where Spot refused to take off, once the gate was lifted, and we dreaded the apparent fact that he was a non-swimmer in the racing industry. However, with the boys chanting, “Go, Spot! Go, Spot!” at the top of their lungs like a couple of lunatic fans at a great sporting event, Spot took off. I thought the boys might like to wear a barrel around themselves, or wave a big, foam finger, but Spot was content to just work with the verbal encouragements. He had no need for supportive props to be displayed in his honor.
He did indeed swim, like he was born to do it, and he won heat after heat after heat. The boys were ecstatic when Spot surpassed Fish Nike, who belonged to the teenage boys. I think the teenagers were a bit put out to be beaten by a fish who belonged to a couple of third graders. I’m happy to report that the third graders acted with great sportsmanship.
And by great sportsmanship, I mean that the boy and Carter jumped up and down in front of the teenage boys, chanting, “Our fish won! Our fish won! He’s the best! He’s the best! He beat your fish! He beat your fish!”
They were so humble, and perfectly behaved for a youth group event.
In the end, after numerous heats, Spot finished as the Overall Grand Goldfish Racing Champion. He went undefeated last night.
And the champion needed a home when the racing was done.
And the boy’s eyes were powerfully sad.
Carter’s eyes were powerfully sad, too, but it was because his own mama had emphatically stated, “No goldfish, Carter.”
And, people, how could I turn the Overall Grand Goldfish Racing Champion and his bowl mate down?
Goldie, by the way, did nothing. Absolutely nothing. He sat in his bowl of water, taking life in, and we could clearly tell that he was destined for things other than gutter racing. However, he was Spot’s roommate, and so we (and by we, I mean the boy) brought him home as well.
Goldie and Spot are one-fourth the size of the goldfish in our dirty aquarium. Although the boy was eager to dump them in with the big fish, I was a bit concerned that perhaps the big fish would view Goldie and Spot, The Racing Champion, as a midnight snack, so they are still in their little bowl, in the boy’s bedroom.
The cat’s haven’t noticed them yet, and for this we’re rather thankful, because Cat 1 and Cat 2 probably wouldn’t care if Spot was a champion swimmer with Olympic gold behind his name. Those cats of ours aren’t particular about things like that, when it comes to dinner.
And here’s another blog post, written about cats. Cats and fish.
I’m looking at afghan patterns tomorrow, and scheduling a crocheting lesson.