Stepping Stones

I've just released my three goldfish into the local stream. 

They were tiddlers really - just an inch and a half long and no more than a third of an inch wide.

I didn't want anything too big, nothing that I couldn't look after properly.

And they weren't really goldfish, well...one was gold-ish. There had been two but I found his friend behind the filter after a month or two.

But in the 10 months or so since, the other three have done pretty well. Given my previous experience with a fairground goldfish in a plastic bag, I've surprised myself.

And yet there comes a time....

Over the next few weeks I can't look after them, so they had to go.

I have heard the local aquarium might take them back. Alas not.

So just after five o'clock I drove down to the local Dene and released them in shallow water.

They were coldwater fish, so they had a chance.

Firstly, they stayed close to the shore. The two grey ones darting around and playing with the gold one. Just as they always had done. And then they split up leaving the gold one. He was easy to see. The others were almost invisible, but they darted around occasionally into view. 

The gold one (I never named him... her? - I feel bad about that now) faced down the current defiantly. I watched to see if he'd wobble or fall or fail. My instincts screamed at me to get out my cup,  wade in, scoop him up and bring him back home.

But he found the little niche and soon steadied himself.

I stayed with him for five minutes and then... his two darting grey friends returned! As if to say, "What you think of this then? This is new". They played a little but still close to the shore where I had poured them in. 

I brought them up to stick together at times like this.

And then, after a few more minutes, they were gone.

My little gold friend faced down the gentle current on his own.

Another five minutes and he darted another foot away, skulking down in his new little crag,  finding different niches.  Everything was new. After a few more minutes he became more brazen and he'd float above the flatter, bigger rocks, putting himself in the middle of things.

My little gold-ish fish...stepping out, striding out, in his little cap and short trousers. 

Finding his way. 

Surviving. 

Trying to live.

He seemed more comfortable after a while. He'd make occasional leaps perhaps several feet into the middle of the stream. I hoped he wouldn't go too far, too soon. But I'd brought my lot up to be tough, resilient, to make their own way. 

I could still see his little coat for another 20 minutes in what was too-quickly becoming the distance.

But it was time to go. I'd done what I could to give them the best start.

I hoped he'd prosper. And be happy. And I felt that I would return to the spot when I came this way again, just in case by some miracle, he was still there.

I walked on, and decided to go for a little walk round the block before driving home.

One circuit later, I walked back down to the bank of the stream, and looked for a shimmer or a glimmer. There was a shimmer but it was just the surface of the water. 

He'd gone. 

For now.

You don't they get that if you flush 'em down the toilet.