Yesterday the life of our faithful Beta fish, "Fishy", was snuffed out. Either by E's well-intentioned water change, or just shear boredom. Or by my vigorous swirling of his bowl/home, when he wasn't looking so hot, in an effort to wake him up for dinner. We'll never know. Wonderboy had a look of concern on his face when I told him I thought Fishy was done. We decided a small box and a bed of tissue would be appropriate (my suggestion of customary flushing was met with a look of horror). But when Wonderboy wrongly assumed he could just store fishy on the far end of the kitchen counter, and we suggested a solemn burial would be honorable - and preferable, a torrent of tears the likes of which I haven't seen in a very long time ensued. I truly didn't even know for certain that Wonderboy was aware we even
had a fish. But it seems he was not only aware, but deeply, deeply, attached.
Bewildered as I was, I tried to remind him of the nature of living things; that animals, people and plants eventually die. He said he's never really very sad when plants die.
Because a Viking burial simply wasn't possible on such short notice, what with the obvious lack of vast expanses of water in the Midwest plains, we eventually agreed on a regular ol' dirt burial. In the front yard so the dogs won't disturb Fishy's peace. So without further adieu, here is Fishy's cozy home, and his even cozier casket (a hotel soap freebie box). And the internment. And the stone marker. We hope the cloud of sadness that hovers overhead won't linger too long. Rest in peace, Fishy. Thanks for swimming in circles in our kitchen so faithfully.
