Meet Old Sneaky

The day we found the house, there were several inches of snow on the ground. By the time we visited it again, making a final decision about the offer, a few warm days had revealed a little round koi pond, full of shadowy water, algae and leaves. Flat rocks were piled on one side, hiding a pump apparatus that creates a little waterfall when plugged in. The day after we closed, we painted inside, and brought the dogs with us to play in their new backyard. At one point that afternoon, I discovered Dylan in the pool, submerged to her belly and enjoying a drink.

Getting a cover for the pond wasn't my highest priority among all the moving-in duties, nor was cleaning it and testing the pump. It was still cold-ish (good old Kansas), so Dylan didn't jump in too often, and the water didn't seem treated with anything, not with all that algae. She'll drink from lakes, creeks, pretty much anything wet and disgusting.

At this point I should mention that while I am not religious, I can be superstitious. I also think the concept of patron saints is kind of neat. Please excuse my blasphemy. So, the day that a friend of ours came to see the house, looked into the pond, and fished out the top half of a St. Francis statue, there was no question of whether to keep him, bisected or not. I found a spot for him among the rocks, looking into the water.

After another week, I got around to measuring for a cover. Or at least, I got outside with a tape measure. It was a clear afternoon, and the water, up close, was surprisingy clear as well. I could see the outlines of the leaves, the subtle movement of algae strands - and a flash of bright goldfish orange. My first thought was precisely that: "Orange?" My second thought was, "I hope it's plastic, because I do not want to pull a dead fish out of the pond." I found a long, dried stalk of one of the many plants I have yet to identify, stuck an end in the water and gingerly pulled a leaf away from the orangeness. The orangeness darted across the pond and disappeared into a new leaf-cave.

I gasped and jumped back, which is the conventional response to movement of a fish that one believes to be plastic or dead (even though it isn't floating). Then I stirred more leaves, trying to get a better look at the fish whose estate I'd acquired. Then Dylan jumped in, oblivious. When the fish swam in to inspect (smell? bite?) one of her legs, I could see that this was no little bowl-dweller, but a good six inches from mouth to tail. It had survived the winter under the ice: hibernating, whatever it is fish do. Possibly hiding in the missing half of the patron saint of animals.

Finding a deep sense of admiration for the Fish Who Lived, I decided to honor him, or perhaps her, with a reference to the large and evasive creatures of fishermens' myths. Old Sneaky is the uncatchable quarry in "Welcome to Eudora," by former Lawrence resident Mimi Thebo. If it's not a book I'll remember the rest of my life, there was a certain aptness to the name.