Alas Poor Moby

         Moby Dick was dead.  Jenna found him floating in the fishbowl when she came down to breakfast.  Moby Dick was a goldfish and considerably smaller than his famous namesake.  At seven Jenna had little experience with death.  She knew it meant finished and gone, like the mouse she had seen in the trap.  Moby Dick was not exactly a beloved pet but she liked him.  He was shiny and golden and had a beautiful long tail.

           She watched as her father took him out of the bowl with the little fishnet.  “What are you going to do with him?”

         “Flush him.”

         Jenna cried in dismay, “No!”

         Her father said, “It’s what people do with a dead goldfish.”

         Jenna considered.  Daddy knew everything and he knew what to do with a dead goldfish. “I want to bury him,” she decided.

         “All right we could do that.”

         “In the flower garden.”

         “That’s a good place.  Let’s do it.”

         It didn’t take long.  Moby Dick was laid to rest in a Sucrets box.  With solemn care Jenna placed a marigold on the spot.  Daddy got to his feet and brushed off his knee.  “Now let’s have breakfast.”

         Jenna followed him inside.  He unplugged the coffee pot and brought it to the table. 

         All day long Jenna thought about Moby Dick.  She was remembering how he ate the food she sprinkled on his water and how he swam back and forth all day.  It made her a little sad.  In art class she drew his picture, using her orange crayon.

         That night before Mom turned off the lamp by her bed, Jenna asked “Do you think Moby Dick was a happy fish?”

         “He had a nice big bowl and plenty to eat.”

         “Maybe we can get a new fish,” Jenna said.
         
         299 words