Now, we all know how long we can expect these fish to last, but we took them home and set them up in a new pet hotel to make them comfortable. Goldy thrived. Snow? Not so much. After a week or so, Snow sadly dwindled and died. Rest in peace, little Snow.
My daughter insisted on having a funeral for the fish and not a "burial at sea" as is customary in these circumstances. So we went out in to our dirt pile, I mean, "back yard" and dug an appropriate hole. We invited the rest of the family and the dogs to be present at the interment. It was very moving.
After the ceremony, we retired to the house for the reception. Towards the end, my daughter went to put up the grave marker only to find the grave mysteriously disturbed! Shockingly (not really), the dogs decided that sushi would be a palatable snack. (At least, that's what I am hoping. It's that or we have a zombie fish on the loose.) My daughter refused to speak to the dogs for the entire week following the incident.
You would think this would be the end of my little tale, but it isn't. About a week after the ill fated Sushi Incident, my daughter found herself in possession of yet another fair-won fish. This time from the school's fall festival.
We added our new acquisition Goldy's tank and hoped for the best. This time they both thrived and we all, naively, resumed a life unconcerned that the fish would survive. It was bliss.
Until...last Sunday morning when I was woken up by my daughter asking me if I knew where Goldy was.
What do you mean?, I asked. In his tank, I presume, I responded sleepily. He was there when I came home very late that night.
No, Mommy! He's not in there!, she replied urgently.
Now what!, I grumbled "pleasantly" for I had not yet had my tea and I do not tolerate being woken up for anything.
I scraped myself out of bed and stumbled down the stair to the kitchen to the tank. I peered inside to do a quick head count. One....two? Huh? One!?
Goldy was gone. Not in the tank. Not out of the tank. Just gone. Gone. No where to be found.
It's been a week now and at night, we still hear the disconcerting gurgle of Goldy rampaging the house looking for fish brains on which to feed. Too bad the dogs are not good zombie fish fare.