For the want of a dignity harness
It wasn't quite a yelp, but it wasn't quite a whimper either.
I heard her across the kitchen sink. She was feigning helplessness to hide her broken heart. In another world, that would be hyperbole. In this one, it was a strong woman turned feeble by the death of a fish.
Geyser is dead, I learned.
I confirmed it with my own eyes. There was nothing there. He wasn't even floating. Geyser, the Methuselah fish, was dead.
He became a part of our lives, a reminder of our friends who moved to Germany, a daily responsibility for our son.
Geyser was dead.
Death is compulsive. It will knock when you expect it. It will knock when you don't. It will knock just to knock.
And it will knock for a fish.
Geyser was a Beta. A fighting fish. A fighter without anything to fight. He was nearly four years old. He was exactly the average age of a just-dead fighting fish. He cast his lure and captured his legacy.