I held the green net just above the surface, droplets of stinking clear water plunked out of it disturbing the monotonous wave created by a murmuring filter. Chuck, my big-eyes black moor goldfish, lay slumped in the mesh, motionless; his eyes wide, fixed on me, his gills flat and shiny. I could hear my heart in my ears.

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As a child, I grew up surrounded by animals, not really pets, but more like family members. We had a dog, a cat, a fiddler crab, two hamsters, all of which eventually passed away, and now two cats. Thrown in throughout the years we also attempted fish with the worst luck in the world. There was a time within two months we must have gone through 20 goldfish, of all shapes and sizes and presenting the name of every Disney character ever invented. However, none could withstand Norwich city water. At a very young age I learned of death and saw it spiral around the toilet bowl.

Soon, we gave up and the put the aquarium in the basement to collect a fur of dust. Fourteen years later, I decided to try it again. I had moved to another town during my senior year of college and the water that flowed from its faucet was well water; perfect for goldfish. I worked up my courage and headed to the pet store.

After two hours and seventy-five dollars spent, I had my fish, a beautiful aquarium to put them in including a life-like broken down coliseum, tan, natural gravel, purple gem accents, and a plant. If I was going to this on my own, I was going to do it right. Now for names. Since I bought two I thought that matching names would be the way to go, either that or something really creative. After watching them swim for a while I finally thought of the perfect names. Chuck and Milton: after my favorite writers. Chuck, after Chuck Palahniuk is slightly bigger with a large flared dorsal fin. Milton, after the brilliant John Milton is a tiny bit smaller with a white tip on his back fin and one bad eye; it looks as if he has cataracts. I thought the name was fitting for an elderly-looking fish since Milton is 400 years old himself soon. Chuck and Milton, perfect.

When everything was set up in my apartment Chuck and Milton became my roommates. The only ruckus they caused was the babbling filter which would ease me to sleep and the only food would be their flakes. A good match it seemed.

They are unlike any other fish I’ve had or seen; they come right up to the glass when you’re near it. The aquarium is next to my desk, so late at night while I’m typing up papers, they flutter over to the side of their home and watch me, and like little dogs they always want to be next to me.

I was watching Chuck and Milton one morning while on the phone with my mother. Milton was playing in the bubbles from the filter and Chuck was picking up rocks with his mouth, sucking on them, and then spitting them out; this is how they clean house. I turned my back for second and when I went to look at them again, once off the phone, I saw chuck flailing around with a large rock in his mouth. He was choking.

The rock was bigger than any other one he had been cleaning and his mouth was wide. I knelt down and watched him. He had done this once before. He would shake a few times and eventually the rock came free and floated to the bottom. He was attempting the same routine this time. He would shake and stop, shake and stop, heaving in between. For what seemed like minutes, I watched him, expecting to see the rock launch out of his mouth at any second.

Finally he stop moving, his body slowly nose dived to the gravel, rock first, his eyes half closed. I held my breath and began to stand up. He moved again, a twitch, and then began shaking again but ended up motionless once more on the ground. I leapt up and grabbed the green fish net that came with the aquarium. I plunged it into the water and scooped up Chuck. Milton was watching from a safe distance. There was no struggle and he flopped over once the net was out of water. I held the green net just above the surface, droplets of stinking clear water plunked out of it disturbing the monotonous wave created by a murmuring filter. Chuck lay slumped in the mesh, motionless: his eyes wide, fixed on me, his gills flat and shiny. I could hear my heart in my ears. A lump formed in my throat and I could feel the tears coming. I couldn’t just let him die, I had made it my mission to not let them do so, whether it be a water or food, or anything related to death. I decided to take action. I grabbed Chuck with my bare hands, dropped the net and it splashed in the water. With a slimy, non-breathing fish in one hand, looking at me, I took the rock lodged in his mouth between two finger tips and yanked it out. Chuck began to squirm; I threw him and his rock into the water with a hint of anger. He swam frantically around celebrating and panting with fear.

I kneeled down in front of the aquarium, I wiped tears off of my cheeks with my fish-water soaked hand. Milton was merrily making figure-eights around the coliseum, he was happy. And Chuck…Chuck went right back to doing was he was doing; picking up rocks, sucking on them, and spiting them out; he was happy. I guess it’s true what they say, a goldfish’s attention span does not exceed three seconds.

At least now I know. If I were to come back to school after a weekend at home and find Chuck floating, it’s because of his dangerous hobby of rock sucking.