Funeral For A Fish
Gilligan gave up his struggles last night.As I've mentioned before, however briefly, Kristi has made Herculean efforts to keep poor Gilligan alive. She had him for almost five years, and nursed him for most of that time. She spent hours -- many hours -- on the Web sorting through incredible amounts of useless, contradictory information. She visited every freshwater fish store in the Cities, looking for advice on diagnosis and treatment. She did everything humanly possible. Bigger tank, hospital tank, drugs, diet. And at times it really seemed to be helping.
Last night, while Kristi and Em were out shopping, I saw that he was lying on his side on the gravel. Believe it or not, this sort of behavior wasn't terribly unusual for him; he'd often do things that seemed deliberately calculated to scare us, like lying upside-down on the bottom. But this time his gills weren't moving, which (let's face it) is a bad sign. Then Finnigan swung past him and gave him a little nudge, and it was clear that he was stiff.
After Kristi came home, I broke the news to her. Kristi broke the news to Emma. Emma, having no-one to break the news to, simply broke down.
I buried him last night, in the dirt near the dryer vent where it never quite freezes solid. Emma wants me to carve a wooden tombstone, but Kristi's thinking a memorial steppingstone -- a far more permanent choice.
posted by MeanMrMustard @ 7:01 AM
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