The Perch

In the late spring I promised to help the kids catch a few creek minnows for their aquarium. We took our homemade minnow trap, a minnow bucket, and a handful of soda crackers for bait, and hiked down to Duck Creek. We caught about a dozen squirming, jumping minnows on the first try, and one tiny perch was among them. The creek minnows looked drab beside the perch's iridescent blues and pinks and reds, and the kids were enthralled. We transferred the minnows and the perch to the minnow bucket and raced back to the house to get them into the aquarium before they suffocated.

At first, the perch was shy. He staked out a spot in the darkest back corner of the tank and spent his time peeking out from behind the plastic plant anchored there. The minnows frolicked and played throughout the area, but they steered clear of the perch's hiding place. At feeding time, the minnows quickly learned to whip the surface of the water to a froth in their zeal to get the bits of food before they sank. The perch ventured out of hiding only long enough to gulp the morsels that slipped through the feeding frenzy above. After each bite, he retreated to his hiding place to wait for the next crumb. He was a much more thoughtful eater than the creek minnows. I was concerned that he might not get enough to eat, and watched for any signs that he was weakening.

The minnows began meeting unfortunate fates. A couple, overcome by exuberant silliness, simply jumped out of the tank onto the floor and died before anybody noticed them. Every so often, one of them would grow sick and listless and we would find it floating belly-up the next morning. Soon there were only two or three minnows left; but the perch, far from weakening, prospered. The food apparently agreed with him, because he grew rapidly from an inch-long runt to a 3-inch bully who chased the creek minnows constantly. They were too large for him to pose any serious threat yet, but I could see he would soon be supplementing his diet unless we did something. But fate, or nature, or old age took care of it before I got around to it. I don't know whether his constant chasing had anything to do with it or not, but the minnows finally died, leaving him to rule the tank alone.

He became almost tame. He would nose up to the glass and watch as we went about our business in the house. Tapping on the glass no longer fazed him. When the kids approached and picked up the can of fish food, he would swim eagerly up to the corner of the tank and wait for the food to be sprinkled on the surface. He never made a fuss like the minnows had at mealtime--he always minded his manners.

A couple of times, we found earthworms and grubworms while digging in the garden. The kids brought the worms in and dropped them in the tank. I was surprised that he didn't have to taste them to see what they were, since he had been captive since he was a mere tad. But he knew what they were immediately, and he devoured them as soon as they hit the water. It must be in the genes.

The kids brought home a couple of tadpoles and minnows from the creek one day, and put them into the mesh net that fit over the side of the tank. The newcomers wouldn't have lasted a minute in the tank with the perch. As it was, he made nose-flattening rushes at the mesh, trying to get to the minnows inside, and the kids finally took them out and returned them to the creek.

I began to anthropomorphize. I began to feel sorry for the perch, trapped alone in that tiny tank. I was sure he had vague memories of a bigger world beyond the glass. I thought of how unfair it was to keep him locked up just so we could own him. I explained this to the kids, and suggested that we make a little outing to the creek and turn him loose, back where we had caught him over a year ago. To my great relief, they agreed without too much fuss.

So, the next weekend, we caught him with a dip net, and returned him to the same minnow bucket in which we had brought him home.

When I held the door of the minnow bucket open and laid it down in the creek for him to escape, I expected to see a flash once he saw open water. But he eased out of the bucket and laid very still for a few seconds. Then he swam over a rock and stopped, his belly almost touching the stone. He didn't move. We couldn't see his fins or gills moving, and I began to fear that the change in water had shocked him and that he might be dying. We watched for at least ten minutes and he didn't move. Then, we looked away for just a second, and when we looked back, he was gone.

I was glad he was back in the natural world where he belonged, but I caught myself wondering later in the day, where he was and what he was doing. I wondered why he had been so still when we released him. Was he confused? Disoriented? Did he wish he was back home in his tank?

I hope he got out into the current, and went downstream until he found one of the long deep pools that lie beneath the mud banks farther downstream. And I hope he met other perch who were glad to see a stranger, and who gathered around him and asked questions about who he was and where he had come from. And I hope there was, back on the edge of the crowd, a shy little girl perch with big eyes and long lashes who remembered him from the days before we captured him, and who watched him and listened to his tale, and who blushed red when he looked at her.

I hope he lives to have lots of baby perch, and becomes an old grandfather perch who will tell his amazing tale until all the young ones laugh at him. I hope he goes on down stream and discovers that the world is large and wonderful. I want him to know about rivers and lakes and maybe even get close enough to hear rumors of the sea.

I wish him well.