When Vaughn's friend, E., Party Girl's daughter, had her 3rd birthday bash, the party favor was a tiny little comet goldfish in a miniature fishbowl. As usual, Party Girl had outdone herself in finding a way to send the little party goers out the door, satisfied, with a unique and inexpensive parting gift. When we got our little treasure home, I immediately got on the Internet and started researching just how one properly cares for a goldfish, figuring I'd get the usual stick them in a bowl and feed occasionally. Instead, I was convinced by the cyber goldfish enthusiasts to follow the more humane path of caring for our little darling, who had been christened by Vaughn as Dorothy because she bore a striking resemblance to Elmo's goldfish. (What are the odds?)
Suffice it to say that when all was said and done, I ended up with a party favor that cost me a little over $100, initially. She was probably the only 1 cm common comet goldfish ever to be set up with her own 10-gallon aquarium, complete with all aquarium accoutrement. In the meantime, everyone thought I was completely nuts for not just plopping her into the nearest bowl-shaped container, like every other parent does, and letting nature take its course. Dorothy, I'm sure, thought she had been returned to the ocean or lake or pond or wherever the heck goldfish come from as she swam the great expanse of her gargantuan home.
For the first year-and-a-half, Dorothy received exquisite care, water changes every few days, a complete cleaning every week, a variety of foods every day, new little ornaments to keep things interesting (because "goldfish become bored if their environment isn't changed every so often"). Then we got the kitten. Dorothy didn't get filter and water changes quite as often, but was still a very doted upon goldfish. Then came the dog, at which time, poor Dorothy's care got to the point of virtual neglect. Algae was thriving, and Dorothy got fed maybe every other day. Now, this isn't to say that I didn't feel extreme guilt over this. Every time I chanced to pass her aquarium and heard the filter crashing water like a mini-waterfall because the water level had become dangerously low, I'd promise to clean her tank...soon. Dave kept reassuring me that she still received the best care a goldfish could hope for, despite the fact that it was becoming more and more difficult to see her through the green film covering the aquarium walls. But Dorothy looked as healthy and spunky as ever and seemed to be as content as a goldfish can be. Party Girl later informed me that the first year after the birthday party she had replaced their goldfish thrice over and that she thought my goldfish was the only surviving member of the original ill-fated fish favors; so, despite the fact that she derived endless amusement from thinking that I was such a sucker to have nurtured a 5-cent carp, I took pride in the fact that Dorothy was a thriving, healthy and happy 2-1/2-year-old goldfish.
Then we went on our 10-day vacation. I bought a couple of those pellet feeders that are supposed to dissolve, I guess, over time or the fish pick at it (I don't know the exact principle on which they work), but the solution of how she would be fed was solved, and since she was still alive when we returned, I was content that all was well. I gave her a good feeding over the next couple of days, which generally occurred as an afterthought after I'd put Vaughn to bed and the lights were off. The next day, Vaughn tells me Dorothy is acting funny. She's on the bottom of the tank. Uh-oh. I went in to check on her, and sure enough, Dorothy was laying on the bottom of the tank on her side, with her tail curled around her, but not dead--yet. Over the next 3 days, there was a desperate rescue attempt on my part to save Dorothy's life. Back to the Internet to 1) try and figure out what the heck was wrong with her and 2) what I could do about it. One source suggested that you could take the goldfish to the vet and have them x-rayed to see if their swim bladder was the problem. For a moment, I pictured putting our 3-inch goldfish into a fish carrier and waiting for 3+ hours in the waiting room at the vet's office, and then paying a ridiculous amount of money to have her x-rayed, confirming that, indeed, she couldn't swim. Yeah, I have not reached that kind of insanity yet. The most likely scenario, as I learned later, was that she had overeaten. Evidently, goldfish can go for as long as a week or more without food, eating the algae (which she had plenty of) off the rocks. She looked perfectly healthy, other than looking like she was going to kick the bucket at any moment, so I had to conclude that she binged, got constipated, and that in turn had affected her swim bladder. There was hope.
I fasted her over the next few days, cleaned the aquarium, religiously changed the water every day, administered medication, and was just about to go all out and start asking for some expert help--well, have Dave ask for some expert help--when Dave informed me that he believed she was no longer with us. Now, the day previously I had declared her dead prematurely. Vaughn was there when I broke the news, and he proceeded to start in on a mournful wail, only for us to see her take a big gasp of breath and flutter her fins. Dave advised me not to make any more death pronouncements in front of "a certain someone" until we were absolutely certain she was gone. (He never did explain how we were to confirm this--using our mini-fish stethoscope, evidently.) However, this seemed to have brought closure for Vaughn because from then on he started harassing me about getting another fish and asking when we were going to replace Dorothy before poor Dorothy's body was even warm. (What do you expect from a child that was ready to give up his dog for a hermit crab?)
As it turned out, the fact that Dorothy had passed on was actually a relief because she had begun to look so bad the day of her death that I was considering euthanizing her (which can humanely be done with clover oil. Another Internet tidbit) because I couldn't stand to think of her languishing for several more days. Of course, this is a little absurd considering what I allowed Vaughn to put the carcasses of his victims through after his little fishing expedition. Granted, they were dead, but...Note to self: I need to get those things out of the freezer.
Dorothy's body was left in the fish tank in Vaughn's room over a period of about a day. I promised myself that I would clear out the fish tank and prep Dorothy's body for burial while Vaughn was at school, and then when he came home, we would lay her to rest somewhere in the back yard, after performing a proper fish funeral. However, being the slacker mom that I am, in the end Dorothy ended up with the traditional city sewer farewell just before I went to pick up Vaughn from school, with the empty fish tank still in his room.
Later that evening:
"Where's Dorothy?" I had wondered how long it would take before he would realize there was no fish in the aquarium. I was actually surprised that he hadn't realized he'd had a dead fish in the tank over the last day, but I guess he had grown accustomed to Dorothy's inert body hovering over the bottom of the tank.
"Oh, Honey, she's gone. Dorothy is in goldfish heaven now, playing with a bunch of other goldfish and eating all kinds of yummy food. She's happy now."
"Where's the dust?" examining the bottom of the fish tank.
"What dust?"
"You know, the dust?" continuing to scrutinize the empty tank.
"What?"
"Mammaw says that when you die you turn to dust."
And did she also explain that when Jesus comes in the Clouds of Glory at the End of Times all the goldfish will rise up from their graves to greet Him?
"Well, Sweetie, you don't turn to dust right away. That takes a lot of time." (Especially in the water--it's more like mud.)
Interestingly, he didn't ask where the missing fish corpse went. I believe he probably is under the false impression that when you die you mysteriously disappear, since that's what happened with the first goldfish casualty, Peepee, Dorothy's former companion, or actually former victim. She largely spent her time tirelessly chasing the poor beleaguered fancy Goldfish all over the tank. I think secretly Dorothy was a bigot and thought Peepee was just a little too fancy, but it's just a theory. When Peepee (again, named by Vaughn) died, I discreetly disposed of him before Vaughn discovered his bobbing, lifeless body floating on top of the water. Vaughn was only 3 at the time, and I wasn't prepared to get into a discussion of life and death at that point. I mistakenly figured he wouldn't notice. Fortunately, the simple statement that Peepee was "gone" and had "passed on" was a sufficient enough explanation for the missing fish. Fish missing--fish "gone" and "passed on." Makes sense.
On a side note: I do wonder what kind of dust Vaughn was expecting--the common household variety of which our home has a preponderance or some goldfish-colored, sparkly, pixie dust, which I suspect was probably more the case. If only we could go out like that, how pretty death would be--a shimmering, magical cloud of dust. *Poof*
Goodbye, Dorothy. We'll miss you. You were a good and loyal (?) fish.
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