Fish Shtick

At one time, I might have said that I'm just talking out loud. Now, I can say for certain that I actually talk to my pets. Not in the way you would with someone who might converse WITH you in return, but I raised human children. Boys especially have the tendency to delay speech even when you suspect they understand damn well what you're saying. In the same way, I believe creatures that spend enough time around you start to learn what you're communicating in some degree just as you are.

Don't eat each other? I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that.

I'm sure there are arguments for their level of intelligence or retention or position on the food chain, but there are some parts of interactions with sentient creatures that doesn't fall under mere coincidence. It's not the same as fanaticism or fervor-- I've said before that while there are distinctions between being a critter mom and mother to your own spawn, there are certain convictions where it's not important if they are real or imagined as long as they are beneficial and the connection is genuine enough to have a real impact.

Many times, I've been told my fish would make a great subject for my comics. It would be hard to express the level of passion I get into when I'm lovingly talking about my 'jerks', but whatever it is, it's clear that the way I observe their behaviors does ignite my imagination. It's a mini soap opera in there sometimes. The big pink jerk and dominant male, PinkiePie, tends to be everyone's favorite (and I can't say I don't share that sentiment). He patrols around with the fish version of a strut or he blubs around, sort of lazy in his insistence on claiming two of the rocks (yet benevolent enough to let another fish occupy the one he isn't claiming). He watches me more than the others and likely wonders if I'm a threat to his dominance. He's also vain and insatiably curious. If I'm taking pictures or videos, he follows the camera almost ruthlessly. He hates how I arrange the tank, but his own ideas seem more borne of spite than actually improving things. He's smart though, so if I want him to stop trenching under big rocks, I have to block his efforts with smaller rocks. He's gotten stuck in rocks that I've warned him he's too big for. I can almost see the defiant glint in his eye when he looks at me and does it anyway.

I don't have a feeding schedule for them, but they seem to know why I'm coming near their tank based on their behavior. If I'm coming over to look closer, they wiggle around mid-level and gravitate towards my face or hands. If I'm feeding them flakes, they start to agitate the water before I even lift the lid. If I'm about to feed them pellets, they know they sink so they wiggle near the surface (sometimes splashing because who has time to wait?). Whatever you want to call it, they observe and learn. Even if I throw in an exception, they are pretty quick to solving the new problem. When I started feeding the brine shrimp in freeze dried cubes, one of them learned that sticking it under the water coming out of the filter broke it up. He was like a dolphin pushing a ball around, immediately repeating the behavior that led to the reward.

And yes, they do ridiculously stupid things, but that has little to do with brain capacity. They tend to do stupid things for the same reasons humans do: Attitude, lack of forethought, forgetfulness, ignorance. We're all creatures limited by our circumstances. One of my earliest posts has a concept I've always loved in terms of measuring intelligence (and it doesn't matter who said it because chances are, it's been said many ways by many people)-- if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing it's stupid.

If he can do it, why can't you?

In a literal sense, it's laughable. Fish don't suffer from crises of conscience, at least not in any observable sense. I've seen what might be regret (getting stuck in a rock) or even mourning (when my big pink jerk lost his breeding mate-- he's never bonded to a female fish again and looked for her for days, but didn't eat). Inferiority is non-existent in cichlids, even to the point of blatant stupidity. They're proud to the point of causing stress to themselves for not backing down or not hiding from an aggressor. 

"I'm gonna kick your butt."

I know, I know-- not the point of the quote, clearly, but as much as I love the quote for simplistically relating that intelligence has layers, it doesn't do the nature of fish any favors. Not all fish are created equal after all. Most species of fish although ranging from dull to beautiful are also somewhat boring in nature, so my own experience with fish is still limited to cichlids, but I can vouch for them. If I put a tree in their tank, they'd uproot it. In fact, I suspect their nature is to get rid of anything that isn't weighed down. They dig up and push around the fake plants and rocks and gravel and one time they even figured out they can scare the crap out of me by pushing the airstone into a rock or log and float it (I make sure the tube can't stretch that far anymore). You could make the argument that it wasn't deliberate, but I pretend like I'm not watching and see that they wait until they think I'm not looking to do something they know I don't like them doing.

You could be delicious, so keep it up and I'll find out.

Haaaaa, as much as I observe, it really sounds like I do nothing but study fish all day, but women-- we are the ultimate multi-taskers and this is an activity that actually aligns with writing, designing, computer work. In fact, you can say my productivity even increased despite their 'distraction'.

Affinity isn't an easy thing to explain. I love the little bastards. I talk to the little bastards because there's some gratification in the response to the stimuli. Sometimes they seem to understand and obey, other times they seem to deliberately disobey. It doesn't really matter which it is. Like faith and fantasy, not every aspect of it needs logic. They do like when I talk to them. They do get extremely interested when I dance around or exercise. They even seem to enjoy mimicking me when they can. It's symbiotic and beneficial and a sounding board that works. 

Often, writers don't always need input. Sometimes it's just nice to have a sentient being to throw things at. It's kind of nice when that being doesn't actually have the capacity to give advice even. Sometimes we just need unblinking encouragement. Or judgement.

Probably judgement.

Needs more work.