Ruth

Herself speaks.

Ruth the fish has passed away.

A few days after I'd given her aquarium a thorough cleaning (there was a visible amount of detritus among the decorative rocks at the bottom of her aquarium, and I thought she would benefit from a cleaner environment), she started looking funny. Swimming funny. No longer interested in food.

I did some research. It appeared that perhaps she was suffering from swim bladder disease; the treatment was a few days of fasting. That did not seem to be a problem, as she was disinterested in food to begin with. I let her be, kept an eye on her, made sure she could reach the top of her habitat for air, and so forth.

She didn't improve. Instead, she died.
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Part of me will always wonder whether I did something wrong. I followed the 24-hour rule for allowing new water to equilibrate to room temperature; I used water conditioning drops; I fed her. I made sure she had gentle aeration and I changed her filter. I did my best. The truth of the matter may be, though, that I do not truly understand fish, and I inadvertently hastened her demise. I feel guilty. And think that I should not, for now, attempt to nurture more fish.

I do better with mammals. I should stick to them. Or perhaps just not get any more pets right now, because I cannot bear the thought of becoming attached to a new creature, knowing that it will inevitably go the way of all small creatures. My heart cannot withstand it.
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I couldn't bear to flush Ruth. I put her in a tiny box and buried her under the tree in the yard. I put the little artificial log that had floated in her aquarium above her to mark the spot.

Godspeed, Ruth. I am sorry our time was so short together. Thank you for your brief, shining presence.