Bye Bye Betta
Since September of my freshman year at college, a lively blue Betta by the name of Borus has brightened my day as he wove through the plants in his tank. Sometimes he has been the only thing sweet enough to make me smile after a long, hard day.
This morning he died. He was over two years old, a respectable lifespan for a Betta, but that still doesn't take away the sting now when I look over at his empty tank.
They say Bettas are the only fish that can learn to recognize their owners. I know Borus learned to do so with me, because each day after I'd get back he'd rise up from the bottom of his tank and wiggle happily in the corner that was closest to me. He loved to follow my finger across the glass. I trained him to know when it was time to eat by tapping on the tank, and each time he heard it he would hurry up to the water's surface. Sometimes he ate like a pig, and others he would worry me by not eating at all. He got sick more than a few times, and I worried for him, but after a few days he would pop back up, fins flaring, as if nothing had ever been wrong.
When he was young he was feisty and difficult to handle when I cleaned his tank. He used to fight so vehemently that once he even jumped out of my hand onto the desk. As he aged, though, he calmed down, and as I transferred him into his clean water, he would curl up patiently in my palm, knowing very well what this was all about.
I was always tickled to see what an impression he made on my dormmates. Many of my friends would ask after him, coo at him, and compliment him much the way I would. I used to enjoy carrying him around in his travel tub to say 'hi' to other people in the dorm. In truth, Borus was with me longer than any friend I have at college. Lost of people have questioned me, saying he's just a fish, but Borus brought great comfort and happiness into my life when I needed it most, and what more could you ever ask for from a friend?
It was painful to see him this morning, his scales gray, fins stiff, eyes clouded. I decided he needed something more than an unceremonious flush down the toilet like most fish receive. My dad, stepmom, and I took him down to the ocean. It's a gray, windy day, and the breeze buffeted the waves. It was a fair scramble over the piles of sandy rocks, but the water was warmer than I expected.
I let Borus go and he bobbed in the waves, looking almost alive again. The salt water brought his color back, and I watched him for a while, a tiny patch of brilliant blue against the gray-green water. It was hard to let him go, but letting him drift away on the waves seemed right.
After all, what better place for a fish to return to than the sea?
This morning he died. He was over two years old, a respectable lifespan for a Betta, but that still doesn't take away the sting now when I look over at his empty tank.
They say Bettas are the only fish that can learn to recognize their owners. I know Borus learned to do so with me, because each day after I'd get back he'd rise up from the bottom of his tank and wiggle happily in the corner that was closest to me. He loved to follow my finger across the glass. I trained him to know when it was time to eat by tapping on the tank, and each time he heard it he would hurry up to the water's surface. Sometimes he ate like a pig, and others he would worry me by not eating at all. He got sick more than a few times, and I worried for him, but after a few days he would pop back up, fins flaring, as if nothing had ever been wrong.
When he was young he was feisty and difficult to handle when I cleaned his tank. He used to fight so vehemently that once he even jumped out of my hand onto the desk. As he aged, though, he calmed down, and as I transferred him into his clean water, he would curl up patiently in my palm, knowing very well what this was all about.
I was always tickled to see what an impression he made on my dormmates. Many of my friends would ask after him, coo at him, and compliment him much the way I would. I used to enjoy carrying him around in his travel tub to say 'hi' to other people in the dorm. In truth, Borus was with me longer than any friend I have at college. Lost of people have questioned me, saying he's just a fish, but Borus brought great comfort and happiness into my life when I needed it most, and what more could you ever ask for from a friend?
It was painful to see him this morning, his scales gray, fins stiff, eyes clouded. I decided he needed something more than an unceremonious flush down the toilet like most fish receive. My dad, stepmom, and I took him down to the ocean. It's a gray, windy day, and the breeze buffeted the waves. It was a fair scramble over the piles of sandy rocks, but the water was warmer than I expected.
I let Borus go and he bobbed in the waves, looking almost alive again. The salt water brought his color back, and I watched him for a while, a tiny patch of brilliant blue against the gray-green water. It was hard to let him go, but letting him drift away on the waves seemed right.
After all, what better place for a fish to return to than the sea?