The lovely expatriate Diane Mandy inquired about the pause in the last post to stop and smell the roses catch the goldfish. The goldfish were my consolation prize after arguing with the Mister. I didn’t win the fight, but the Mister thought I deserved a reward for my persistence so he opted to correct the wrong problem*. Enough about the why and onward to the how…

When I say goldfish, I mean these not these. Not that these aren’t worth coveting, but they don’t require six hours in a car, a pond in a box, and suicide prevention counseling.

The goldfish in question were residing six hours away, at our old house, in our old pond. In order for them to be transferred to our new abode provisions had to be made. Like most really big decisions the Mister has to make this one had a small window of opportunity to execute. Two days to be exact. After online estimates ruled out indoor aquariums, the Mister opted for an exterior pond kit. Pond in a cardboard container as it is unaffectionately referred to in this house. The kit included a liner, lighting, pump, three different nozzles, and uninspiring installation instructions.

We returned home with the kit and the Mister and I took turns digging a two-hundred and forty gallon hole on the front lawn. (Actually lawn is probably too generous a word, but at least it is green.). The kit was a low cost affair one quarter the size of our first pond. We stopped working at sundown with the intentions of finishing the following day, but like all the best laid plans…

The Mister awoke the next morning with one those 24 hour stomach things. He spent most of his day alternating between riding the porcelain bus and sleeping on the sofa next to the trash can. I spent most of the day making gatorade runs and cloaking myself in a ring of lysol. So, yeah, there was just an empty hole in the front yard.

I set the pump up on the deck in a large bucket to use as a temporary tank until the installation could be completed. We were behind schedule, but at least there was a back-up plan.

The Mister was feeling better the following morning and we were able to drive down for his son’s wedding. Since departure arrangements were made in haste, he left an item of great importance behind. His suit. The suit that was purchased for the sole purchase of watching his son be united in holy matrimony. So we backtracked an hour and a half from home and added three hours to our drive south. So much or achieving fuel economy by carpooling..

The following day we set about the business of catching fish to be transported to my sister’s, where I spent the weekend. These fish are friendly enough to eat from your hand, well my hand, but the moment you introduce a net to their sanctuary…The backyard fishpond might as well have contained enough water to fill the ocean. Those fish made me feel like an uncoordinated ass with a net. Two hours later with the pond half-drained, we captured eight and I moved them to a small holding pond at my sister’s until migration day.

One koi had issues. Yes, had being past tense since he is no longer present. The holding pond was too confining, and he couldn’t cope with the claustrophobia. He jumped out and spent his remaining life flopping in a fire ant bed. By the time he was discovered, it was too late. We regrouped resources and covered the holding pond screen until departure. When I told the Mister about the casualty, he replied if we had only left him in the pond he would still be alive. True, but I wasn’t the one who insisted on moving the damn fish.

Bagged and oxygenated the remaining fish were placed in a bin to ride north. After dropping the Mister at the airport, I took the fish home and settled them in their temporary digs on the deck.

The following day, I set about the business of finishing the pond installation. Apparently, I am a champ at digging figurative holes, but I totally suck at digging literal ones. I tried fitting the liner to the liner but the hole was too small. I made it bigger. Then it was too too wide. I tried back filling and made the hole too small again. Then too deep, then too shallow. By the end of the day I was prepared to let the fish spend eternity in a wading pool with yellow ducks silk screened on the bottom.

The next day was marginally better. I finally installed the liner, much to the amusement of the UPS guy who showed up when I was up to my thighs in water and potty talk. I stepped back to critique my handiwork and realized I would need to engage in more reverse engineering if the pond was to resemble anything other than an afterthought. Armed with a level and a shovel I created a berm along the edge to prevent runoff from flowing into the pond.

The last step was to remove random stepping stones from the path leading from the parking path to the front door. Charming as stepping stones are, if not installed level, they will make it easier for you or the Fed Ex guy to break an ankle while walking to the front door.

The Mister asked how construction was progressing. I replied it looked exactly like a pond that was sold in a cardboard box. It would look fine in someone else’s yard, but I had higher expectations of my own abilities. It doesn’t look natural and the landscaping is lacking. But honestly, how natural can one expect a koi pond to look in the fucking mountains of Tennessee?

The fish are settled in their new watering hole and it only took about a hundred and fifty dollars worth of provisions to transport and relocate the little bastards. Now, I hope the savvy urban raccoon population doesn’t turn our water feature into a sushi bar.

If this had actually been easy, it wouldn’t have seemed like my life.

*I’ve tried to finish this post for four fuckin’ days. I can’t go into details about the disagreement in fewer than twelve hundred words, and still be fair to the Mister. Ironic, because the argument took less than a minute.