The Mosquitofishers

The Mosquitofishers

By Martha Hoffman c 2009

Momzilla galloped like a charging bull, head down and happy in the cool morning. My brother and I took turns letting her tow us on our skateboards. A woman looked up from her yard and yelled, “You kids quit torturing that dog!” Google yelled back, “The vet said to exercise her like this, you can call him up!” She looked disgusted and went back to gardening. Luckily. The last time, a complainer had actually called Animal Control and we had to wait till Trish, the AC officer came. We’d been on a ride-along with her for a homeschool project once. Trish calmed the person down, and told us we’d better carry a letter from our vet if we were going to roadwork Momzilla. She laughed, and told us, “Really, people are so silly! Of all dogs except an Alaskan Husky, I think a Pittweiller would enjoy this the most!”

We were on our way to work and had to hurry, we hadn’t expected to be slowed down. The Rippling Waters development was almost empty, and we could ride down the middle of the streets without seeing many people. Most of the houses were foreclosed and abandoned. Dry yellow yards and piles of junk went on and on, with an occasional oasis of green where someone hadn’t moved out. Empty lots and half-finished houses filled the far end of the development.

We stopped at the first house on our list and unlocked the combination lock of the yard gate. Locking it behind us, we felt safe with Momzilla. She’d been the least adoptable dog at the shelter- a BBD- Big Black Dog, but the best for looking like a guard dog.

The swimming pool was green with algae, but much less ropy than the last time we’d been there. Google checked the filter and the heater. He put on thick rubber gloves before swishing the metal handled pool net around in the water, meanwhile looking at a dial on the heater cables.

“Whoa!!! A good one! They’re doing great!” he said as the dial suddenly swung up to the green zone. He adjusted the floating waterproof rubber-ducky shaped vibrator and its timer to a different level and smiled big. As the ducky vibrated, the dial swung up again and again.

“Glad you’re happy Google, what’s happening?”

“The ducky is making them think it’s alive, and the shocks are charging the battery for the heater, AND almost enough to run the filter! The system’s getting self-sustaining, and I can tell they’re growing.”

I dumped the pool’s quota of mosquitofish from my insulated backpack in carefully. The poor things instantly vibrated and flailed, and six large slimy mouths gobbled them up. The electric eels were thriving in their replicated Congo environment.

“When they’re a bit bigger and stronger, I’ll be able to sit here and charge up my laptop.”

We threw some larger dead fishes and a bucket of earthworms in, and the eels ate them up too; almost blind, but sensing anything around them with sonar-like tiny electrical pulses, then powering up a huge voltage to stun it and eat. They were all rescues gathered by our Craigslist network of ads; people who had electric eels knew they were illegal, and didn’t know what to do with them when they got too big and dangerous. We’d arrange anonymous drop-offs by the Steakback Outhouse, and then pick up the buckets later.

I went to the hot tub and some planters with standing water, and poured some more mosquitofish in. These would live until the water dried up, or if the rains came, they’d live on through the winter, eating mosquito larvae.