Don't count your fish...

Several months ago Ben brought home four fish from a wedding reception. His cousin's, I believe. They wanted to give him three and he tried to get out of it by saying that his four kids would have a hard time dividing three fish.

Darn. They happily gave him another fish.

But the kids had a good time picking out a fish bowl, fish food and the requisite accouterments and they named our fish original names, like Goldie, Shiney, Shy and I can't remember the other one's name because it died first, and not long after we got the fish.

I say died first, because they are goldfish and it is inevitable that they shall die, sooner than later, right?

Although I have to say sooner has come and gone and it's getting later and later. As of a few days ago we had two fish, our second fish passing away after obviously feeling lethargic about life, or maybe he was sick.

Which brings us to Goldie. Goldie has always been the overachiever. He grew bigger than the rest, changed his fins from light gold to black and began attempting to jump up out of the water on occasion. Have you ever heard of a jumping goldfish? But Goldie was determined.

Who knows what caused him to follow this dream, this passion? Was it talent? a hidden dolphin gene? a desire to see beyond the glass bowl?

Sadly in the end, Goldie succeeded mightily. I found him dead on the counter not too far from his bowl. The poor fish didn't realize that there wasn't water, water everywhere. Not a drop to drink. Or swim in. Or breath in. It was too late when I found him.

What can one say? He died trying to accomplish a dream. In some books, that makes for a good story. For Goldie, it ended with him being thrown away in the garbage can.

I feel a little bad about the whole thing. But what can I do about it?

Cheers to Goldie. Shiney, you're all we have left.