0705200845. Take me to the river, drop me in the water.

0705200845.

Yesterday, the fish that belongs to my youngest son, died. Although this is a bit of a relief that we did not have to find a home for it, it was a terribly sad occasion.
There are few options for a dead fish – bury, flush or bin. This special little fish would get a burial at sea – or at least a burial in the river.
Since we needed a break from packing, and it was a relaxing kind of Saturday, we decided to give the fish a decent funeral. It’s little dead carcass was delicately lifted out of its former watery home, resplendent with coloured rocks and full length mirror, and with as much dignity as we could muster for a dead Mexican fighting fish we gently wrapped it in some clean white paper towel. And then in a hygienic plastic bag.

Nearby is a mighty river that plys its way through the land dividing shires with authority, providing vital water for agriculture and has a convenient boat ramp. The sun was shinning, the birds were singing, the breeze was breezing – all was good with the world as we drove to the little place that would become a permanent part of our memory as the place where we had the fish funeral.

We stood at the waters edge, in the mud, under the shade by a tree and said a few words about the role of pets in our lives and how the happy little fish never understood that it was always looking at itself in the mirror – it would even go behind the mirror to see if the "other fish" was there. It did this every day for years. We found it amusing, the fish was probably terrified.

The sad little package of dead fish and paper-towel was lowered into the river while the gentle flow of water held it in a slow graceful turn. This event was not exciting enough for our youngest son - so he unwrapped the fish and put it in deeper water to be carried away by the current. He was quiet on the way home but said he would like another pet – an ostrich.