Okay, so I went in to feed Puppy today, and I found him dead in his tank. The thought of touching a dead turtle disturbs me, so I'm either going to have the guy upstairs take him out, or wait until the husband comes home. I still haven't decided if Puppy needs a burial at sea or not.
And yes, I named a turtle puppy. Puppy was rescued from some juvenile men who decided it would be fun to torture a turtle that was so tiny he could sit on your thumb. I put him in a cleaned take out container, and took him home. I was mad at my man because he had said I couldn't have a real puppy, and he was out of town, so I played a little joke on him. I sent him an email telling him how cute my new Puppy was. His face when he came home was priceless!!! So, back to the story. Puppy lived with us, for a few months, happily sunning on his rock, and swimming in his pool. Then, one day, I found him dead...
Well, the thought of leaving him in his tank triggered a memory of my dead pet fish, or perhaps in this case, it'd be better to say my pet dead fish. Now, I have a long history of killing things that live in tanks, fish, newts, frogs, now turtles. They just don't blend well with me I guess. However, I had a fish, won at a carnival by my little brother, that lasted for a very long time. We're talking years here. As it was a goldfish, I named him Goldie, but sometimes I called him Lester for short. Well, Goldie/Lester was a good fish. He never demanded much attention, forgave me if I forgot to feed him. He managed to live for many years, alone in his tank. We tried to give him friends, but alas, they were short lived. Well, I'm sure you're going to be thinking that this is going to be a tale of woe, for my beloved fish obviously died. However, I was not living at home when my fish died. He perished under the care of my brother (kid probably actually fed him every week and he overate or something... I dunno, maybe he was old). When I decided to come home again, I found my fish dead in the bottom of the tank. I was a little sad at first, and told my brother to remove the dead fish. However, I was told it was my fish, my problem (EWWW). So, I started looking at Goldie/Lester. He was bloated, skin transparent, and you could perfectly see his skeleton. It was an interesting sight to say the least. As the battle of wills raged on between my brother and I (you clean it... no, you clean it), I started to grow accustomed to this new form of Lester. No, that's not right, I was down right fond of him. Every morning, when I came home from work, well, that's stretching it a bit..., As frequently as I did before his demise, I started checking in on Goldie. Occasionally, I would sprinkle food flakes in his home/ grave. He became, my dead pet goldfish. I don't know that there is a moral to this story. If you are wondering what happened to him, I don't know. I went to boot camp about 4 months after I came home.. I just thought I'd share that story with the world. I kinda miss that fish tho.
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