By: Angela Gillaspie © May 2001

When we moved into our new home recently, we gained a 6-inch goldfish in the little fountain next to our driveway. Owning "Goldie" was new to Paul (my hubby) and I.

We only had experience with our cat Spanky, and the occasional unfortunate cricket, praying mantis, or beetle that was captured and placed into a plastic baggie or jar to be shown off at school.

We purchased two additional pond fish, and Nicky, my youngest child, quickly claimed Goldie as his, Josh, my middle child, claimed the speckled "Aubie", and Ashley, my oldest, claimed the fan-tailed "Tiger".

We hoped that all three of the fish were the same sex because neither of us wanted to explain where baby fishies came from. Shoot, we had a hard enough time explaining my pregnancy to them. Only Nicky and Josh bought the alien abduction story - Ashley just rolled her eyes (uh oh, I think it's time for "the talk").

One day while playing outside with Nicky, I noticed that Tiger was caught under some tubing and wasn't moving. I poked him with a stick, and sure enough, I saw that old Tiger had met his maker. Nicky saw me and rushed over just in time to see Tiger slowly float to the top of the pond, belly up.

"Is he asleep?" he asked.

I said, "No baby, Tiger died."

"Can I touch him?"

Turning pale, I answered, "Uh, no. Let's wait until Daddy gets home and let him get poor Tiger."

I swallowed hard as my morning sickness reappeared. All I could think of was how the pond water was filled with dead fish cooties.

"Ashley will cry when she gets home from school," he said as he bent down to slap at the motionless fish.

I grabbed his arm with one hand and held my mouth with the other and said, "Uh yeah. She'll be so sic- uh, I mean sad. We need to go in the house now and throw up, uh, I mean wash up."

Thankfully, he quickly forgot about Tiger as soon as he saw his NASCAR Hot Wheels and I too forgot about the rapidly decaying Tiger as I entered the bathroom.

When Ashley and Josh arrived home, I huddled them together by the pond and gently told them that Tiger was in Fishy Heaven. Josh made a face and said, "Eww, he's dead? Cool! Look at him floating! Can I touch him?"

What is it with these boys? Why do they want to touch the dead stinky nasty fish? Ugh. "No. You canNOT touch the fish. No, no, gross no," I answered.

During this Ashley was really quiet with her eyes downcast. Finally, she looked up at me, and I thought oh-no-here-it-comes. She asked, "Can I feed Tiger to Spanky?"

Tears sprang to my eyes - not from sadness - but from biting my tongue and trying not to heave. "Uh ... no. We'll wait on Daddy to get home and we'll bury him," I gagged.

"Can I touch him?" she asked.

Oh yuck. "Nooooooo," I whined as I made a dash for the house to find a nice open toilet to gaze into.

When Daddy got home, he and the boys carefully placed Tiger on a paper plate and cleaned the dead fish cooties out of the pond. Ashley picked out a spot in the woods and dug a hole for Tiger's final resting spot.

Next, they started the funerary services to give Tiger a proper Christian Fish Burial. Daddy deepened the hole and Ashley slid Tiger off the plate and into the hole.

"Uh, dear God, uh - ..." Ashley began.

"Hurry up, he's startin' to stink!" Josh yelled.

"Nuh huh - it was me. I pooted," Nicky said.

"Mom! Nicky's pootin' and I can't pray for Tiger!" Ashley bellowed.

I slowly took several steps backward toward the house and smiled a weak I'm-going-to-puke-soon smile at the father of my children. "Nicky honey, don't poot any more until Tiger is buried, OK?" I asked.

"OK, I not poot," he solemnly said.

Clearing her throat, Ashley said, "Dear Lord, Tiger is dead and I will miss him. He was pretty except now he's not pretty anymore because he's dead. Amen. OK, I'm done. Can I cover him up now, Daddy?"

"Can I poot now?" Nicky asked as Josh giggled and added his own rude noise.

I almost asked, "Can I vomit now?" but I figured I needed to be strong (for the kids' sake).

Hopefully the next funeral for a dearly departed pet will have a less emotional (and nauseating) send off, plus I'll definitely not make beans and cabbage for the pre-burial supper.

Stay tuned for more SouthernAngel's flatulent fun!