Published: June 24, 2009 07:02 am      

Swimmers now sleeps

Morbid as it sounds, Swimmers no longer lives up to his name. Instead, he sleeps with the fishes.

Sadly, our 7-year-old daughter's Betta splendens roommate recently swam off this mortal coil. His passing provided a reflective look at life, death and canceled checks boxes. The circle of life contained in a plastic fish bowl.

Swimmers came into our family one year ago this month. He was a little bundle of joy -- although the hook jaw never quite exuded happiness. As pets go, a $3.25 fish seemed like a low-risk investment. Unfortunately, I thought the same thing about a few mutual funds now in the toilet.

And no, Swimmers didn't circle that bowl in the end.

Up until a few months ago, it was going swimmingly: clean tank, fish flake intake and a belly-side down existence. Then came "The Incident" -- a moment so life-altering we gave it two capital letters. While details remain fuzzy, I'm pretty sure Swimmers was waterless and sucking air for a not-so-good half-minute. His head also hit the bowl edge on the return trip.

It was then that the fight was knocked out of this Siamese fighting fish.

Swimmers still turned circles, but it was short-term head below water. The laps decreased as he took to laying on the plastic vegetation. His eyes clouded and he let his fish food fall. A few mornings I contemplated a quick run to the pet store for a Swimmers' doppelgänger -- then he would move.

However, there would not be a bad TV sitcom fish-switcheroo. Instead I heard heartfelt sobs after our daughter discovered her pet's demise. Not a lollipops and rainbows moment.

So in lieu of Saturday morning cartoons, we talked burial arrangements. Rather than a ride down the porcelain express, Swimmers would be sent off in a box that once held canceled checks. Thankfully, the irony of that choice was lost on a second-grader.

Not many can say someone cared enough to draw crayon hearts on their casket. Then again, the same can be said of a Cling Wrap and toilet paper burial shroud.

Our daughter picked out her fish's final resting place behind the storage shed. She handled the shovel and graveside eulogy with equal aplomb. She opted not to mark the spot because it would be "too sad" of a reminder.

Of course, life goes on -- including soccer practice. In a matter-of-fact voice from the back seat came: "Swimmers will become part of the dirt, won't he?" It was more an insight than a question from the girl in pink shin guards. Before I could muster a biology 101 response, she chimed, "At least he gets to swim in heaven."

Nothing like afterlife small talk on the way to soccer.

After two days, the mourning period was over. Unfortunately, the incessant hamster pet facts have just begun.

Good night, Swimmers. May you live up to your name in a bowl-free eternity.