Marilyn Smith

Most of my friends and acquaintances are well-aware of how I feel about fishing. It’s barbaric. Toss a treat or a lure into a stream, an unsuspecting aquatic creature swallows it and, hello, the hook inside. Fisherperson yanks said hapless creature from its environment into the air or onto land or the sole of a boat and whacks it to death with a club. Sweet deal, huh? Dinner!

Fish don’t have feelings like humans or big game, sportspersons will tell you. Some will even go into the biology of the species and natter on about nerves and ganglia and such. I eat fish; I just don’t want to know much about how they get from life to the meat cooler at Costco, OK?  But you’ll never convince me that they don’t feel anything; I’ve felt this way for years, but now I know Scott.

Scott is a four or five-year-old deep orange and white goldfish who lives in a big bowl of clean water and pearly rocks on top of a file cabinet in the staff offices of Albany Municipal Court in City Hall. He’s named for his official owner, Judge Bob Scott, but the court staff are primarily responsible for his care.

Scott is lively and friendly and does tricks. He swims upside down and backward. He takes food from your hand. He fears no strangers. Just watching him can make me laugh or drop a bundle of work-day stress. His caretakers feel the same way.

And Scott has confirmed what I’ve been saying for years about fish and feelings.  Like the judge with his private law practice, Scott used to share his bowl with another fish. The judge’s former partner sometimes serves as Municipal Judge pro-tem. Scott’s paid the Ultimate Fine a few years ago.

It was a horrible day for Scott and for the staff. Scott’s partner became sluggish, struggling for breath, and began his final float on top of the water. Scott swam underneath, trying to hold up his friend. Staff called the Fire Department, and a medic responded, removing the stricken swimmer from the water. Scott became frantic, swimming and gawping back and forth and back and forth.

For days, he looked for his friend. He mourned. That, folks, takes feelings.

Scott has had the bowl to himself for awhile, and he seems happy. His keepers dote on him and, just today, were reminding each other to restock the fish food.

When City Hall is closed for a holiday weekend, one of them comes in to make sure Scott gets fed and knows he’s not forgotten. I’m sure he feels their love.

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