When I was a kid, I won two goldfish at the carnival. I was so excited to put them in my dad’s fish tank at home. He was less thrilled about my “poopy goldfish” living in his nice tropical tank. Eventually he caved, because I assume my mom pointed out that a happy wife and kid were more important than his fish tank. Plus “they were just carnival fish so they’d probably die soon anyway,” he said. Those goldfish ended up living for years, including making it through a move to a new house and a new tank. When the last one finally died he was far too big to flush. I asked my dad what he did with it, and he said he just threw it out for the birds. Little me was heartbroken, but my dad hated those goldfish all the way to the end.