Of Grass and Goldfish

By G. E. Shuman

Several weeks ago I read an online news report about goldfish. It was a serious account of some new legislation enacted in the city of San Francisco… yes, about goldfish. I only state that it was a serious account, because, from my viewpoint, it seemed to be a totally ludicrous one, and some of you may agree with me. Some other readers may wonder why I would feel this way, and might sympathize completely with the article and that new law. If you agree with the law, then my lack of sensitivity to the feelings of lower animal life would be as repulsive to you as the law, to me, is ridiculous. To this, I must remark: “Oh well.”

The article in question here alleged that a new law, in the city of San Francisco, makes it illegal to possess a goldfish within that city’s limits. This hugely silly reasoning, to me; this appropriate reasoning perhaps to some others, is that taking the goldfish home in that plastic bag is a traumatic experience for the fish. Again, yes, they are serious, (for those of you who think like me, about fish.) I must also admit that the fish I caught a few weeks ago must have been just totally traumatized. If fact, I’m pretty sure I traumatized the life right out of him, BEFORE I put him in a plastic bag. At this point I’m thinking that someone should ask the lawmakers in the city of San Francisco three questions. First of all, if any of them have ever actually eaten fish. That, to me, would be the ultimate insult to a species of life who’s emotional condition must be taken into consideration. Secondly, what is to become of all those homeless goldfish, after they have been told to leave, and kicked out onto the streets of California? Who will speak for those tiny, perfect pets? And lastly, how do they know that the goldfish are traumatized, riding to their new home in those nifty plastic bags. Have they asked them? Think of a goldfish’s life. It is entirely possible that the roller coaster ride home in that plastic bag is the most fun a goldfish ever has! It could be Disney World to him!

A related subject, sort of, (Hear me out.) is that in early spring, I can’t wait to see green grass. At that time of year I just love the scent of freshly cut lawns, and enjoy shaping things up outside, raking, trimming, and cutting the grass, golf-course close. The problem is that, for me, the new sort of wears off the pretty grass, pretty soon. Fortunately, I have the perfect lawn for when that occurs. Right around August first my lawn begins drying up… and slowing down. The grass then almost ceases to grow at all. This all happens, thankfully, right about that time when I have become tired of caring for it.

Now, back to the goldfish. I remember once hearing a comedian who agreed with me that a goldfish really is the perfect pet. His point, and mine, is that just about the time you get sick of your goldfish, it dies anyway… just like my lawn. Sorry San Francisco.