Fish Tales
Here’s another post from the past—2006, to be exact. Today’s posting was inspired by the untimely death of my grandson’s newly acquired pet goldfish, and harks back to his mom’s pet fish days of yore:
Having pets teaches valuable lessons about life, death, and the importance of caring for other creatures. Over the years, we’ve had a menagerie: Buck, the black Lab, who moved to Huntingdon years before we did; Springer, the Lab/hound mix, who loved nothing better than to trick his doggie pal out of peanut butter sandwiches; Roly, the beleaguered hound mix who never figured out why he didn’t get as many peanut butter sandwiches as Springer; Sagan, the cat who ran away within a week of being “fixed” (maybe he didn’t think anything was broken?); Kiko, the black Siamese, who delights in playing fetch and footsie; Fred, the loveable guinea pig who died a day after the pet store 14 day warranty expired; Phoebe, the guinea pig who allows me to share her office space; an assortment of gerbils (what WERE their names?); a couple of short-lived hermit crabs; and 3 tanks of fish of various shapes and sizes.
Most of these pets are gone now, with the exception of Roly, Kiko, Phoebe, and the fish, and most of these we have because of Merrilee, my kind-hearted animal lover. The ones who passed away were mourned appropriately, and many are buried together on the hillside here in Huntingdon.
When Merrilee left for college, she left us in charge of caring for her fish. At one time she had a bunch of smaller fish in addition to 3 large–and aging–goldfish. All of the smaller fish had died, and their passing was not particularly traumatic since they were here just a short time.
When a large animal dies, it is all together fitting–and obvious–to bury it with all the dignity it deserves. And when you do that for the larger animals, then doing it for the smaller furry animals seems reasonable as well. But what do you do with fish?
Merrilee was never one for a “flushing” funeral. I was instructed to take the small fish to the woods and, uh, “launch” them. She told me a couple of weeks ago that she knew that her big goldfish were aging and probably would not last long.
“I’m going to be upset when these die–they’ve been a part of my life for so long now!”
I’d been out of town for a few days and came home Sunday a few hours after Merrilee had gone back to college after a weekend visit home. Bob told me that evening that one of her big fish was not looking very well. We checked on it and sure enough, it was looking pretty pitiful, just laying at the bottom of the tank–still breathing, and even moving around if coaxed a bit. I checked on it before I went to bed Sunday night and, not surprisingly, it was dead. Its tankmate kept trying to nudge his tale–so sad.
So now I had two dilemmas–what to tell Merrilee and what to do with the fish. It was too late to do either so I stuck the fish in a bag and put it in the freezer….
I knew I couldn’t flush it, and I wasn’t sure that Merrilee would be satisfied with a launching, so I decided I needed to wait and see what she said. And I had to pick just the right time to tell her.
We chat by Internet and/or phone 2-3 times a day, usually starting with a late morning chat. I knew that it wouldn’t be good to tell her before lunch time, and I didn’t want to chance telling her right after lunch–right before her philosophy class. So I waited till late afternoon and called her.
“Whatcha doing?” I asked cheerfully, trying not to let on that I had disturbing news.
“Mindy and I are heading to Dairy Queen for a strawberry shortcake!”
Well, so much for telling her then. I couldn’t ruin her ice cream outing. So I told her I’d probably catch up with her later.
After supper, I gathered as much gumption as I could, and called her again. This time she wasn’t doing anything in particular. I asked if she had any homework or tests to study for, since I didn’t want to break her concentration with sad news.
“Nope, not tonight!”
I took a deep breath and proceeded….
“I have some news…” I tried not to make it too ominous.
“Oh, my fish died, didn’t it?” No tears, just matter of fact…. “Yeah, I was expecting that. He looked pretty sick all weekend. It’s okay.”
I told her I was afraid she’d be upset after what she’d told me weeks before, but she explained that she just didn’t want to be surprised.
So I asked her what I needed to do with the fish. I told her I knew her feelings about flushing, but just wasn’t sure. And I told her what I’d done with the fish in the meantime.
“You put a dead fish in the FREEZER??? EWWWW, MOM! That’s gross!”
I told her my dilemma about when and how to tell her and therefore the need to preserve the fish until I could find the right time. She thought that was funny.
“Just take it out to the woods and cover it with a little dirt and some leaves and it will be fine. BUT GET IT OUT OF THE FREEZER!”
I promised to do so the first chance I had–which wouldn’t be until the next day since it was already after dark.
So, the next afternoon, I carried the fish in its bag to our pet cemetery and dug a shallow hole for it next to Buck, Springer, Fred, and the gerbils. Roly accompanied me, so in addition to the dirt, I moved the sheet of tin that we’d put over Springer’s grave to protect the fish from Roly’s inquisitiveness.
And so the cycle of life continues. I think Merrilee appreciated my sensitivity for her feelings, and generally thought I was nuts.
Oh well. What’s a mother for?
© 2017 Melissa Clark Vickers
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