Goodbye Nemo, Marlin and Bruce

Algae and ivy were slowly choking the water. A spring invasion force of frogs had arrived, threatening to overrun the squalid pond.

A dark green film, dank and unloved, spread across the still surface, broken only by an impertinent frog. Sunlight was powerless to penetrate the gloom.

The ornamental cats, guardians of the pond, were slowly being strangled by the ever growing ivy. They stared impassively out over the murky waters.

The pond simply had to go.

Saturday saw myself and the Baron fishing in the back garden. Armed with a bucket and a fishing net, we began Operation Locate and Retrieve the Bloody Goldfish.

Back when we moved into this house, we arrived here just before the previous occupants had left. They were running late because they were having trouble catching the three goldfish that lived in the pond. In the end, keen to get on the road to their new house, they abandoned the attempt.

We became the proud owners of our house, and the three resident goldfish.

We've had some problems with the pond - it features very heavily in one of Frankie's worst moments and Zach too has had several unexpected dips, which led to his first, second and third bath in very quick succession.

More seriously, the dogs have been drinking from it when our backs are turned. Clearly, with the state of the water, this isn't good for them, and their naughtiness has been amply repaid with serious bouts of vomiting and diarrhoea.

First catch of the day was a large and glaring frog. I hate frogs. I don't know why, but they really give me the willies. It leapt out of the net and landed on my foot, before hopping away to hide.
Ten minutes later, my catch consisted of a pile of algae, a plant pot, a snail, the long lost Darth Vader water feature, two more frogs and half a ton of ivy. No fish.

The Baron took over. He thought he might be more successful.

Bollocks. He didn't even catch a plant pot.

So the fishing net was returned to my capable hands, and the next thing I knew, Bruce flopped into my net.

I owe Bruce an apology. I also caught another frog, and spent a good thirty seconds shrieking when it jumped at me before it dawned on me that poor Bruce could no longer breathe. Did I mention that I really really hate frogs?

Bruce was very quickly placed in his new home, a nice yellow bucket.

One down, two to go.

Nemo and Marlin, despite being much more golden than the rather pale, but distinctly fat Bruce, were still nowhere to be seen. On the other hand, a large collection of previously lost dog toys had found their way into my net.

Thanks to some well placed holes, the water level in the pond was dropping quickly. The frogs were retreating now, staking claims in the growing pile of algae. I gave them a very wide berth.
I hadn't seen the fish at all in days, and had a growing suspicion that Nemo and Marlin were now ex fish, frolicing in the Great GoldFish Bowl in the Sky. The Baron was convinced that they were very much alive, but were being stroppy.

Can fish be stroppy? Since Daddy keeps fish, I asked the Boy this question, hoping for some insight into the ways of goldfish, but all I got was a withering look and an offer to conduct a toilet side funeral. Perhaps Daddy wasn't as successful as we thought...

A very still and dead Nemo floated into my net.

It didn't seem right to put Nemo in with the very much alive (and now pissed off) Bruce. But neither of us had a clue as to what to do with Nemo, Deceased.

Just as I was about to take the Boy up on his offer to conduct a funeral, Nemo himself ended all the discussions by miraculously coming back to life, backflipping up and out and stupidly landing back in the net.

Clearly fish can be stroppy....

That just left Marlin.

I think he felt a little lost without Nemo and Bruce. And the approximate 100 gallons of fetid water that had now drained away, because he just swam lazily into the net.

Job done. Finally. Operation Locate and Retrieve the Bloody Goldfish was a complete success. Of course, we still had the pond to remove, and the large hole to fill, but that was a job for Sunday.
Now what to do with the fish...

Last summer, when the slugs and the snails were trying to decimate our vegetables, I could regularly be seen walking to the village green with a plant pot full of reprobate molluscs, plucked from the dewy plants I was working so hard to grow.

I couldn't being myself to actually kill them, so I merely relocated them. Much to the amusement of the village, who clearly had a more pragmatic approach to garden pests.
I couldn't just leave the fish to die, so the village was treated to the sight of the Baron and I wandering through with a very large yellow bucket, containing three confused goldfish. There is a large man-made pond at the far edge of the village, which was just perfect for our newly homeless fish.

So Bruce, Marlin and Nemo are now happily swimming in the village pond, having joined many other relocated goldfish.

The village pub just happens to be opposite the fishpond, and so we enjoyed a post fish removal pint and lunch.

All in all, it was a good Saturday.