First, there was one — in the front office, behind the receptionist’s desk. No one knew he was there. One day in October, he moved to a shelf. And suddenly, he was on display.

It was perfectly reasonable, taking into account the fact that there is often more than one dog trotting around the office, but no one had though of having an office fish before then.

That same day, the editorial department ordered “Bernie’s Betta Cove” (a one-gallon tank with a little plastic podium, a lighted hood, and an air-bubble filter) and a packet of “Grow Your Own” aquarium plants. Once the tank arrived, all that was needed was a trip to New York City’s New World Aquarium to stock the tank with some high-quality fish. It all started with a little white lie.

“I am starting up a ten-gallon tank,” the managing editor said (fish people will never let you put anything but a Betta in something smaller than a ten-gallon tank.)

They talked about nitrogen cycling — how the water in a new fish tank will become toxic in two to six weeks — and discussed the few species of fish that were hardy enough to endure the brutal cycle. In the end, the editorial department had a beautiful tank with six orange and silver Glowlight Tetras and one feisty, blood-red Betta. Although the Betta enjoyed chasing the Tetras around, he never caught them, and it was fascinating to watch them school around like one big fish to evade him.

The day the editorial department’s fish arrived, the production department took a field trip and returned with two one-gallon tanks similar to “Bernie’s Betta Cove,” and put two goldfish in one, and a myriad of colorful fish, plants, and plastic rocks in the other. While many fish in the crowded tank perished that night, two dyed Glassfish survived, and remain there to this very day.

All was well at Dan’s Aquarium until one terrible morning, when the editorial department arrived to see three little Glowlight Tetras swimming around nervously, where six had been the night before. Although the Betta was initially blamed, the perfect condition, save a few white fuzzy spots, of the other three Tetras became his alibi. The fish expert’s parting words came to mind; “if you see little spots on them, you know the water is too cold.”

During the day, the thermometer read 78 degrees — plenty warm enough for Tetras and Bettas. But who knew how cold the tank got at night when no one was there? Did they freeze to death? A three-gallon Eclipse System 3, with a built-in, full-spectrum light and bio-wheel filter, was ordered immediately, along with some plastic hiding plants and a heater.

As soon as the new tank arrived, the three remaining Glowlight Tetras and the Betta moved in. The water was crystal clear and the heater was set to a balmy 78 degrees. But the tank seemed empty. The Betta lurked in the corner hidden by plants, and the tree Tetras seemed lonely and out of place. With no time to get back to the City, some local fish from Pet Hampton and Aquarium made their way into the big tank, including a nurse shark-like Pleco, three Neon Tetras, one Black Neon, and one Orange Neon.

The next morning, four beautiful plants had sprouted from the “Grow Your Own” bulbs. But all was not well. The Black Neon and two of the Neon Tetras were missing, and the three original Glowlight Tetras still had white spots. Worst of all, the remaining Neon Tetra was chasing the Betta and biting his fins. In a word: Chaos.

Another trip to the city, this time to Petco, yielded assurance that the Tetra deaths had been the product of erratic nitrogen levels, and that 82 degrees would be a much better temperature for tropical fish than 78. Six Black Neons and one Bolivian Ram later, the new tank was more beautiful than anyone had imagined. Further on-line research suggested that the ideal temperature for this group would be 80 degrees, and at this temperature, with the pesky Neon moved to production’s goldfish tank, the new ecosystem thrived. The Betta, Ram and Pleco swam together and the little Tetras schooled happily, despite their color differences, and everyone’s colors and spirits seemed brighter than before.

The next morning, however, the office witnessed a grim sight. Our happy little Ram lay pale and listless, jammed into the corner of the big tank behind the heater and the filter. Every few minutes, the Betta would swim over, flare his face shield, and take a vicious bite out of the little Ram’s fins. The Ram had become the office favorite, with his cute little upturned mouth, pink-tipped Mohawk and all-over-the-tank swimming antics. This was the last straw.

“Bernie’s Betta Cove” was quickly rinsed and filled, and the Big Bad Betta was put into isolation. Permanently.

As soon as the Big Bad Betta was gone, the little Ram crawled out of the corner and rested in the middle of the tank, fluttering his shredded fins in relief. The Pleco reappeared from behind the plants and began to clean the gravel, and the Tetras stopped schooling and swam freely. The tyrant had fallen; democracy reigned at last.

Currently, the Big Bad Betta is looming around in his very own tank, the Black Neon Tetras and Glowlight Tetra are healthy and happy, and The Pleco is still frantically trying to make everything neat and tidy. As someone in editorial eloquently remarked, setting up a fish tank is a bit like playing God. It’s a big job, but once the initial hardships are overcome, being able to take a snorkeling break in midwinter without leaving your desk is worth every minute and dollar it took to get there.