My little baby fish is dying. She was the guppy - the one and only guppy - that I rescued from being eaten by her mother the cannibal. She is almost 2 years old - which is like 7,000 human years. When I first found her she was literally the size of a mosquito larvae. No one actually believed that she WAS a fish until she grew. I knew better.
She is a good little fish. A good little fish who is currently suffering incredibly and just won't let go. Poor little Speck. Never thought I'd get teary eyed over a tiny little guppie - yet here I am finding my eyes welling up with tears intermittently. She was kind of a miracle fish.
Since yesterday, Speck has been floating on her side. Her tail is kind of bent at an odd angle and only one fin appears to be functioning. Yet, when I come near the tank she perks up ever so slightly. You may scoff at that but - she does. I swear it. She knows I'm the one who feeds her. She is a very friendly fish; she thinks I am her mother. Laugh if you will. But she is my little pet and I will really miss seeing her little bug eyed face.
My father very magnanimously offered to help her to a swift demise by reenacting a childhood trauma for me. (Funny, I was just telling this story yesterday...) Anyways, when I was a kid I was sitting underneath the dining room table and my Dad walked by. As he was passing one of my fish committed suicide and flung himself out of the tank. My father promptly - albeit accidentally - stepped on it with his dress shoes and crushed it. Flat. I won't let him do that to Speck. It would scare her. But I can't stand watching her suffer...
(and NO - I'm not flushing her down the toilet either!)
Sigh. I hope by tomorrow she will have gone to the lake in the sky.