Gangsta Frog
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I went to the pet store after my beloved albino hamster, Sully, died. I wanted another, but after looking at the selection of little rodents, I realized that it was just too soon.

I browsed around and found a tank of vibrant orange fantail goldfish, and they were on special – buy two get one free! My last goldfish, Fishie and Swa, had gone to that big pond in the sky the previous summer, and I decided to fill the hamster void with a trio of fantails. I chose three fish as equal in size as possible in the hopes of deterring any injurious roughhousing.

I decided that my goldfish would be French and named them Fiche, Swa and Pierre. Fiche was the biggest, then Swa, and Pierre was just a little fellow. After a couple of days I caught Pierre biting Fiche and Swa on their tailfins.

“Pierre, stop that!”

He looked at me defiantly and nipped at Swa’s bum.

“PEE AIR!” I cried furiously, but he just continued nipping at the others.

“That’s it!” I said and proceeded to fill the small octagon punishment tank with fish water. I had been through this once already with my previous goldfish, and though I expected the littlest fish to be a victim rather than the perpetrator, I separated Pierre from the others.

Shortly thereafter, I noticed that all three goldfish had a case of ick. I got ick medicine, but it was too late for Fiche and Swa. Swa died first, then Fiche. Once they were gone, I returned Pierre to the big tank. After a week or two his ick had cleared up nicely, and I figured he was out of the woods. I wondered if he might be lonely.

"Would you like a little friend, Pierre?" I asked.

He swam gleefully across the tank.

"Okay, but I will not tolerate any roughhousing or butt biting. If I see any fighting, whoever started it will be banished forever to the punishment tank. Understood?"

He wagged his tailfins to and fro.

So I returned to the pet store and headed for the tank of fantails where I found Pierre, Fiche and Swa. Alas, the fantails had sold like hotcakes, and there were none left. While checking out the different available goldfish, I came upon a tank that had goldfish and frogs living together in harmony. The frogs had webbed feet and five little toes with black nails and tiny hands with four fingers. They swam gracefully about with their little splayed froggie legs, and I immediately fell in love. I found the fish boy.

"The little swimming frogs, what do they eat?" I asked.

"Goldfish flakes. Whatever the goldfish don't eat," he replied.

"So they get along well with the goldfish?" I asked. A good mother researches such things.

"Oh yes," said he.

"Then I will take one please," I said smiling.

"Does size matter?"

"I'd just like a little one."

He captured me a chipper little fellow who I immediately named Heriberto.

"Can I hold my new pet frog?"

"He'll run away if you try," he warned.

And so I brought Heriberto home and gently introduced him into the tank with Pierre. Shortly afterwards, I got a call from my niece and excitedly told her about the newest addition to my family. When we hung up, I went to check on the little fellers.

At first, I didn’t see them, but when I looked under the filter, I was met with a grisly scene. Heriberto had his mouth clamped tightly over the lower half of Pierre's body. Pierre’s eyes were wide with terror.

"Let him go!" I screamed.

But Heriberto was like a dog with a bone. I quickly filled the octagon tank, grabbed the net and tried to separate them, screaming the whole time. Heriberto circled the tank twice with Pierre in his mouth before he finally dropped him. I scooped Pierre up and put him in the octagon tank, but it was too late. He immediately floated lifelessly to the top, a look of stark terror forever frozen on his little golden fishie face.

"Pierre, wake up!" I cried. But he did not stir.

So now I'm the proud mother of one murderous gangsta frog. Surely Heriberto must be getting lonely. Perhaps I ought to get him a little friend....

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