|"And if you're smart, you'll duck when you see the Kellermans headed your way too."|
We're gathered here today to bow our heads, take a moment of silence, and listen to me say...
I told you so.
At roughly 10am yesterday, central standard time, in my haste to clean up Koolaid stains from the day before, a certain fish bowl was bumped into. Not feeling too terribly bad about it, but not wanting to be rude, I tapped the glass to say 'hi' to my newest charge. In response, his rigid body did two and a half somersaults and stayed completely vertical in the bowl for the next twenty minutes.
Like any other person who has special gifts when it comes to animals, I confirmed my suspicions by again shaking the bowl and watching the fish topple over like a tiny, blue bowling pin.
The tuna had sung his last dirge.
Text to Husband: I think the fish just bit the dust.
Call From Husband: That's too bad. I guess it's a teachable moment for the children.
Teachable? I suppose. Really, I was just trying to figure out where we'd gone wrong. All the essentias had been accounted for.
Fresh water? Check.
Inquiring eyes. Check.
Multiple playings of anything by Phil Collins? No, but I'm really not a fan, even if fish tend to like him. Probably where I slipped up.
Narrowing down the cause of death has been nothing short of mind boggling, but it didn't change the fact all members of the Split level seemed to internalize the news in their own particular fashion. All things considered, I think they've taken the loss pretty well, but that also doesn't mean they're not terribly confused.
"It's probably cause we fed him too much shrimps."
"I think he's going to be ok, momma. Why'd you put him in the garage?"
"We'll get an orange one and name him Orangie."
"Why'd he wanna get killed?"
"If we bury him, will he feel better then?"
"If Daddy flushes him down the potty, will he make it back to the ocean?"
Yes, children, the great Kansas ocean.
The sad fact of the entire situation is that, once again, the Kellerman Fish Death Knell has tolled again, and our track record remains horrifyingly consistent. Perhaps betas simply can't cope with being located in an un-renovated kitchen with scalloped molding above the sink. It's hard enough for me to take. Fish probably don't have the mental energy to even begin to processes a peach back splash.
Husband keeps talking about owning tropical fish someday.
I think we have about as much chance keeping tropical fish alive as I do winning an Academy award in 2015. Slim, but just no.
Until Next Time, Readers!