The other day while on the phone with my friend, I suddenly heard Zack cry out in alarm: "Goldie is dead!", followed by sobbing. I quickly told my friend I would call her back and ran to Zack's room to find him staring in horror at his sideways floating pet, Goldie-grey. Yep, the fish was dead alright. The day I had been dreading was here. After I consoled him and he calmed down I asked him what we should do with Goldie, flush him down the toilet or bury him in the back yard? His reply: "That's not a very good idea mom." He then insisted on holding the thing, who knows how long it had been in there, it could have been a week. (Zack was in charge of his fish and feeding him.) I took him in the kitchen, drained his bowl, put him on a paper towel, and told Zack he could pet him, which he did until his scales came off. Then, much to my astonishment, he perked up, smiled and innocently said: "Let's eat him!"
After I explained that we don't eat our pets, Zack suggested that we just put him in the garbage can. Rest in peace Goldie.
Somethings Things Don't Come Out Right
4 years ago