Romulus: The Old Man in the Sea

My name is Romulus and I'm an Asiatic Veiltail Carp or goldfish. I am 13 years old! I could live to be 25!

I am over a foot long now! Most people do not realize how long goldfish can live if they let us.

My human rescued me from a tank full of goldfish meant to be turtle food or food for bigger fishes. She brought me home and added me to her 10 gallon fishtank which was on top of her piano.

Well, I disappointed her bitterly when I killed all of the Angelfish and Swordfish in the tank with me. She wasn't that knowledgeable about fish, otherwise she would have known that I would do this--plus there was just enough room for me in that tank!

However, she admired my strength and beauty and took very good care of me. Each night, she would practice the piano--remember my tank was on top of it--and I would critique her playing. When she would make a mistake, I would thrash angrily and stare viciously at her. So she would try very earnestly to play beautifully. I especially loved Chopin for his flowing notes to which I would stretch my fins and yawn quite widely! I do NOT like Bach though because his music is so choppy, that is more for humans than fish!

Making Waves to Music

At the end of each practice session (some of them lasted eight hours or more), my human would play my own special song she always played just for me. I knew then that she was finished practicing and would wag my tail. Yes! I do! That song was Mozart's "Ah Tutti Contenti," from The Marriage of Figaro.

After five years of being in that tank, I had grown to be nearly six inches long and my human decided to get me a bigger tank. I moved into a 29 gallon tank with large blue gravel which I enjoyed piling into mountains and rearranging every week. My human was now becoming much smarter about fish care--measuring the pH in my tank and adding only distilled water during water changes, which she'd do every month.

Someone to Call My Own

But I was becoming lonely. My human now had two parrots to whom she was paying more attention. She didn't come over as often and pet me (yes, she'd put her hand in the tank and I would swim under her hand for a pet). So she decided to get me a mate. That brought Rhiannon, the egg-shaped goldfish, into my lonely life. Rhiannon grew very quickly and soon was the size of a honeydew melon! We became very chummy but needed more room so we moved again--this time into a 55 gallon tank! Now I'm over a foot long!

I still listen to my human practice the piano when she has time. We have known each other 13 years now and that is a long time for a fish and a human. I know her parrots pretty well too. They like to look at me in the tank and I like to look at them. I'll swim over to near where they're sitting and weÕll stare at each other communicating and exchanging ideas. It's fun!

Taking care of me is a LOT of work and is also expensive. My human has to spend nearly a whole day a month cleaning my tank and measuring ammonia and nitrite levels in my water. She is careful not to use tap water in my tank, which can contain residual chemicals from winter runoff (do you humans really drink that stuff?) which can kill me rather quickly. Actually, once I got tuberculosis from this and my human nursed me through it. Not many fish survive that! She was vigilant though and I made it!

pictured above: Romulus, the goldfish, lived to be 13 years old!

Communicating With Fish

Animals have been trying to communicate to me all my life as they try to do with most people, we just don't get it. I guess one of the first times they really got through was when I developed a relationship with my goldfish, Romulus. Yes, it was rather a shock to get communication from a fish, that was the last place I expected it to come from. But it made sense, really because these fish were kept as pets for centuries by the Chinese and I was just discovering why.

The first thing I noticed about Romulus after he had grown rather large were his soulful eyes. Then I would notice his reactions to the music I played on my piano. He showed a distinct preference for some types of music which when played he would stretch his fins out and 'yawn' as fish do when they are supremely content.

Romulus dances to the sounds of Chopin He seemed angry, too, when I would make a mistake or play a type of music that did not have a flowing quality to it, like Bach. Sometimes, if the mistake was particularly displeasing or the music very choppy, he would slap his tail on the water's surface and splash me! It is hard to deny that interspecies communication is going on here!

Romulus became ill one year with tuberculosis and required lots of medication and careful water changes. He survived but spent much of the time hunched in a corner. I would sit by this corner and put my face up to the glass and wave a finger at him. He would wave a fin back at me.

There was now no question in my mind that we were 'talking' to each other. But I had no idea what we were saying. I just knew he could see me and recognize me and would wave to me. I also became fond of petting him. Yes I would put my hand down into the tank and as he swam by, I would gently touch his scales. He didn't really react to this, he didn't try to avoid the contact though. His scales felt slimy of course but also smooth as silk and this fascinated me.

I became very attached to this fish and his mate, Rhiannon, and my memories of them will be ones I always treasure. Romulus lived 13 long years and before he died, he went back to his corner until the end. After he was gone, Rhiannon spent a lot of time in that corner too, grieving for her companion, a fish.

The Water Of Life

Chopin was a 22 year old, self-mutilating, feather shredding, purportedly insane wild-caught Moluccan cockatoo I had just rescued. He did indeed seem crazy, yelling, "I hope I go away soon! I hope I die!" I explained to him, "Chopin if you die, you will only be reborn again." So, he revised his rant, "I hope I die forever!"

He needed attention and mental stimulation. And a shower! In the bathtub, I sprayed him with the hand-held shower head while he exclaimed, "Water! Water! How does it work?" Haltingly, I replied, "Um...I don't really know." In an outside cage I soaked him with the hose and let him dry in the hot sun. While happily preening himself, he proclaimed earnestly, "I like water!"

Together, we listened to classical music, and once afterwards Chopin whispered, "I don't want to go." But he still chewed on his chest so I called Tera for help.

Tuning in to him Tera said, "He says sometimes he feels crazy." Then she took a few moments to send him some Reiki. I watched him atop his cage as he looked up at the ceiling, turning his head this way and that.

Softly Chopin asked, "Where are you?" Then ruffling up his feathers and shaking himself like he'd just been caught in a rainfall, he said in wonderment, "Water! Water!"

When I heard Tera's voice on the line again I told her, "He said 'where are you?' and then 'water, water.' What did you tell him?"

She explained, "I sent him the energy and told him he could receive it over the next 24 hours and control it like a faucet turning on more or turning it off."

I smiled, "Tera, you told him it was like a faucet?"

She replied, "Yes and -- oh my! That's why he said 'water'!"

What stronger affirmation than that could one possibly ask for?

Later that summer so many years ago now, I came home from Tera's Level II Animal Communication workshop bursting with enthusiasm and asked Chopin "How would you like it if I hosted an animal communication workshop and have lots of people right here in this room with us practicing animal communication?"

He leaned way out over the edge of his cage, his head reaching forward as far as he could and with solemn reverence said, "Water!"