Election Eve Update

> Well, all we can do now is wait for the polls to open, and then the votes to be tallied after the sun sinks slowly into the west tomorrow evening. But there is news!

Melvin and Howard were successfully relocated yesterday. Yep, they made it to The Big Pond, after surviving against all odds from April to November in this urban jungle we call Rockville.

Congratulations, Melvin and Howard, and congratulations to us all for enduring another campaign year.

Best wishes to all the candidates.

Sad day at Frank's Pond

> I knew in my heart what I would find within a few seconds after I stepped out onto the deck this morning and plugged in the power cord to the pond. The familiar dribbling sound of water flowing off the old piece of terra-cotta pipe I fashioned into a waterfall didn’t rise up to greet me as expected. Around the corner and down the steps, the first evidence of the raid - a large lillypad, fake but surprisingly realistic, lay on the bricks. My fear was confirmed as I found one of my larger fish lieing lifeless, eviscerated alongside the pond, two holes in its side. Another smaller fish floated fins-up. A quick count found the rest apparently OK, but not happy about the murky water in their disheveled home.

Every Spring it is the same routine. I clean out and fill up the small, shallow pond I built years ago in an overgrown and unused side yard that I have since turned into my own little grotto. I grow attached to the fish we buy in April. My youngest son and his cousins name them. Shy at first, pretty soon they learn that I am their friend, the one who feeds them. “Who’s your Daddy?” I say to them as I watch the feeding frenzy. I try to learn their names, but my son tells me I am mistaken. My wife just shakes her head. The fish get so comfortable, they will eat out of my hand. Just like at Sea World. But unlike those protected dolphins, they are on their own out there in the wild, urban jungle of South Adams Street. I wonder, how long before….? But I brush aside the worry. And then, sooner or later, just like I knew it would happen, the predator strikes. A morning massacre.

I used to think it was the fox, or a racoon, or a cat. One day I watched a neighbor’s mostly blind cat slink down to the pond, put its front paws in, and lap up the water. Nope, it couldn’t be the cat. More careful forensics led me to suspect some big bird, like a heron or hawk. I see herons at the New Mark Commons lake; I have seen hawks perch on my deck railing. Maybe deer having fish for desert after eating all the flowers? I guess it doesn’t matter.

Like Tony Soprano when his ducklings flew out of his pool and off to the Meadowlands or someplace with more shoreline, I feel a sense of loss as I scoop up the dearly departed (one was Melvin, I think) and toss the corpses into the thicket at the back of the yard. But no panic attack and fainting for me. Nope, you got to be a tough guy to keep a pond around here. Heck, Melvin, or whoever, and his sidekick lasted longer than some of their predecessors. And I keep my eye on the prize - having a few fish survive until November when I take them to my friend’s huge pond where they live happily ever after. Unless an early hard freeze and my inattention turns them them into party-gimmick fake ice cubes.

Yeah, its tough out there. Outdoor fish-keeping is not for the faint of heart. But as with having any pet, it is rewarding. It’s hard to beat relaxing pondside with the sound of falling water, as I watch the fish frolic and the sun set, after a tough day in the office. And, none of the family are alergic to fish!