03/01/2026
Yesterday, I went to a neighborhood garage sale. Sitting in a box of 90s nostalgia was a pristine, fully functional "Big Mouth Billy Bass."
For those who don't know, it’s a life-sized rubber fish mounted on a wooden plaque that turns its head, flaps its tail, and sings "Don't Worry, Be Happy" when it detects motion.
I bought it for two dollars. It was the worst financial decision of my life.
I brought it home, put in fresh batteries, and hung it on the hallway wall. Because I am an adult, I hung it at standard human eye-level.
Because Moose is a 165-pound Mantle Great Dane, human eye-level is exactly Moose nose-level.
I went to the kitchen to make a sandwich.
Moose, who had been sleeping in the bedroom, woke up and decided to do a perimeter patrol.
He sauntered down the hallway.
He passed the wooden plaque.
His massive shoulder broke the invisible infrared motion beam.
WHIRRR-CLICK.
Phase 1: The Awakening
The mechanical gears groaned. The rubber fish violently snapped its head outward, pointing its dead, plastic eyes directly at Moose.
Then, the motor engaged.
“HERE’S A LITTLE SONG I WROTE...”
Moose froze. All four of his massive paws locked into place.
He stared at the singing rubber bass.
The fish’s mouth was moving in perfect sync with the cheerful reggae music. The rubber tail was slapping against the wooden plaque. Thwack-thwack-thwack.
Moose stopped breathing.
“Mother. The wall has spawned a fish. It breathes the dry air. And it is a baritone.”
Phase 2: The Hostage Situation
The song ended. The fish’s head clicked back into its resting position.
The hallway was silent.
Moose didn't move. He lowered his center of gravity. He extended his long neck until his wet nose was one inch from the fish’s face.
He sniffed it. It smelled of latex and garage dust.
He let out a low, vibrating growl. Rrrrrr.
“Do not speak again, River Beast. I am the King of this corridor.”
Satisfied that he had intimidated the creature, Moose took a step back.
That step re-triggered the motion sensor.
WHIRRR-CLICK.
“DON’T WORRY... BE HAPPY NOW!”
The fish head snapped out again, practically kissing Moose on the nose. The tail slapped aggressively. Thwack-thwack-thwack.
Moose yelped. He jumped backward, slipping on the hardwood floor, his legs pinwheeling like a chaotic, spotted deer on a frozen lake.
“IT ATTACKS WHEN I RETREAT! IT HAS NO FEAR OF DEATH!”
Phase 3: The Duel
Moose decided that the hallway was no longer a passage; it was a battlefield.
He began to bark. A full-chested, window-rattling Great Dane bark.
ROOOOOF! ROOOOOF!
But the fish did not cower. The fish just kept singing.
To Moose, the fish was aggressively rapping at him, matching his energy.
Moose lunged forward to bite the air near the fish. Snap!
The motion sensor caught the lunge. The song restarted.
Moose was trapped. Every time he tried to walk past it, the fish sang. Every time he backed away, the fish sang.
He was a hostage in his own home, held at gunpoint by Bobby McFerrin and latex.
The Climax: The Extraction
Moose realized that barking wasn't working. He needed to eliminate the threat.
He didn't just bite the fish. He decided to remove the entire ecosystem.
He opened his massive jaws, clamped down over the rubber fish and the wooden plaque, and pulled.
Now, the plaque was held on the wall by a single thumbtack. It surrendered instantly.
RIIIIIP.
Moose pulled his head back. He had the fish.
But because the fish was now constantly moving inside his mouth, the motion sensor was in a perpetual state of activation.
The fish was singing inside his jowls.
“Mmm-don’t-mmm-worry-mmm-be-happy-mmm.”
Worse, the mechanical tail was still violently flapping.
Thwack-thwack-thwack.
It was repeatedly slapping Moose directly in the left eyeball.
Moose panicked.
“THE FISH IS ALIVE! IT IS SLAPPING ME FROM INSIDE MY OWN FACE! I HAVE SWALLOWED A FIGHTER!”
He took off running.
He galloped into the living room, a blur of black and white fur, emitting muffled reggae music and frantic mechanical clicking noises.
He drifted around the coffee table. He sprinted toward the kitchen.
He knew there was only one way to kill a fish.
He reached his stainless-steel water bowl.
He dropped the singing plaque directly into the gallon of water.
SPLASH.
The Aftermath
The water short-circuited the 90s technology instantly.
The song died mid-note with a terrifying, slow-motion robotic groan. “Beee... haaaapppyyyy... bzzzt.”
A single bubble of air floated up from the fish's open rubber mouth.
Moose stood over the bowl, panting heavily, water dripping from his chin.
He looked at the drowned rubber bass.
He looked at me, standing in the doorway holding half a sandwich, utterly speechless.
Moose puffed out his chest, walked over to me, and let out a soft “Boof.”
“I returned the demon to the sea, Mother. The hallway is safe once more.”
I am out two dollars. My water bowl is contaminated with battery acid and latex.
But Moose is currently patrolling the house with extreme swagger, checking every piece of wall art to make sure it doesn't have gills.
I’m never buying vintage electronics again.
