A few months back, I wrote about our odd, and aptly named, goldfish Goldie. She had the funny little habit of floating belly up for hours on end in the fishbowl she shared with a not-so-aptly named Hawkeye.
Sadly, a few weeks back, we came across Goldie doing her normal back float but this time, when we gently tapped the glass, she didn’t move. Goldie had finally stopped pretending and had actually died.
After we buried Goldie under the corn – because a burial at sea was deemed too violent – we went about trying to find Hawkeye a new bowl mate, a task that would turn out to be much more difficult than one would think.
Our first addition was a mammoth sized goldfish named Cleo. Cleo was, without a doubt, too big for our little bowl. Swimming around the much smaller Hawkeye she looked like a school bus to his Mini Cooper. She only lasted three days. A burial at sea was deemed fitting since we have a sneaky suspicion foul play was involved and Hawkeye entered a very believable plea of self-defense.
The next addition didn’t even last the night. Nameless, he was sent to sea as a John Doe.
We’re picking up the third attempt today and, honestly, it’s the last. At this point, I’m under the impression that Hawkeye and Goldie had a special bond, a bond that can not be replaced. Hawkeye might just be content to wander the bowl alone, for the rest of his life, mourning his lost love.
Goldfish are like that.