Spike the fish

Strate Talk by Barbara elvy Strate

Benjamin, one of our great-grandsons, will be 6 years old in March of this year. He lives in Medford, Ore., with Maxwell, his 4-year-old brother, Oliver who joined them in December '05, and their Mom and Dad, Janel and Kenney. Our granddaughter Janel e-mailed me this story of Benj and his fish:

We had Spike the Beta fish for six to eight months in a lovely aquarium on our kitchen counter. When he first arrived, he was well cared for, like any new "toy," and was even introduced to everyone who came to the house.

As time wore on the newness wore off, as it will with children, and even though feeding Spike was on Benjamin's chore list, he didn't get fed every day. I tried to keep up with it, but in reality, it was Benjamin's pet and Benjamin's responsibility.

One day Ken looked at Spike and said to Benj that he had better remember to feed him, as he looked sick. Of course Benj said he would, fed him and promptly forgot all about the poor little fish. About three days later as I was cleaning up the breakfast dishes, I looked over at the tank and saw Spike, normally a beautiful blue and red with flowing fins and spikes on its head, was a tan color and lying on the bottom of the tank…not a good sign.

I decided that I wasn't prepared to deal with this on my own and I'd wait until Ken came home to break the news. When we were out running errands that day, I casually asked Benjamin if he had fed Spike lately. He said no, and we had a bit of a talk about responsibilities, and "How would you feel if we didn't feed you for a few days?" Well, I should have known that as soon as we arrived home he would go look at the tank.

We arrived home and as I was unloading the car I heard the most dreadful wailing. I couldn't imagine what it could be! I ran into the kitchen and saw Benjamin standing near the tank just bawling with the biggest tears rolling down his cheeks. "Mommy, Spike D-I-E-D," he spelled to me, as if not saying the word made it any better. I pretended to be surprised, and comforted him while adding that maybe it was because he hadn't had anything to eat for a few days.

Ken and I spent the next five hours until bedtime with Benj as he wailed his heart out. And for the next several days, with intermittent sobs, Spike was the main topic of conversation and he wailed, "I'm going to miss him so much *sob*, he was my best friend, we had so many good times together," (I thought like what? Riding bikes and playing tag?) "I'm not a very good person, I bet Spike doesn't think I'm a good person."

I comforted him as much as I could, and he was all right for a while, but when his Daddy came home from work it started all over again. He looked at his chore chart on the refrigerator and said, "Maybe here where it says 'feed Spike' we should write DEAD." Then his little face lit up for a brief moment, and his eyes got just a little bit bright as he said, "Hey! The good thing is that now I only have four chores to do. Waaaaaaaa, but I'm re-aa-llll-yyyy gonna miss-ss-ss-ss Spike!"

We found a small silver box and put Spike on a bed of soft cotton inside then held an appropriate burial service under the pine trees in the backyard. His Dad helped me with the actual burial and because Benj was still so sad, I told him that sometimes it helps to "say a few words." We talked about all of the good times we had with the fish, and let him know that anytime he wanted to visit Spike that he could sit under the pine trees to talk to him. Ken discreetly moved the tank and all of the supplies to a top shelf in the garage. We haven't talked too much about Spike lately—I'm afraid to bring it up, but I don't think Benj has suffered any permanent damage.

We may try another fish someday soon. I'm just glad that we didn't agree to let him have a cow.