On the way home from school, Kayden asked that we talk about dinosaurs…
This is common. More common than I would like to be. I’m basically making up names of dinosaurs at this point, but they sound plausible (and I actually think a few of them could be correct) and it makes Kayden happy. I apologise in advance to his school teachers and anyone else who may try to educate him on dinosaurs in future.
Anyway, Kayden asked a new question today:
Mommy, how do dinosaurs get to be skeletons?
I launched into a notsogreat explanation of decomposition and something along the lines of ‘they were eaten by other….things’. The words ‘flesh’ and ‘muscles’ were involved and I then waited in silence to see if my explanation was satisfactory…which it was. Thank god.
This conversation about decomposition and stuff got me thinking about this koi fish I once knew.
At my school, there was a fish pond-fountain combo in the middle of the high school quad. Up until some idiot put dish washing liquid in the pond bit, it used to be home to koi fish (why is it telling me that ‘koi’ is not spelt correctly? It’s a thing, right?). One day, my friend Candice and I happened to be looking at this pond and we spotted a dead fish. Some force that was not my own inspired me to pick this fish up, wrap it in toilet paper, put it in my blazer pocket (yuck) and take it home so we could give it a proper burial.
At my house, I put some water in the kitchen sink and gently placed the poor thing into it to give it a wash. It needed to be clean before it was put in the ground and then devoured by maggots and other squirmy things, you see.
At this point it is probably pertinent to mention that we had a dog.
I left the kitchen to go and call my friend so that we could discuss the intricacies of the funeral arrangements. This took some time. I then returned to the kitchen to check on my dead koi fish friend, only to find it had disappeared from the bloody sink.
For a few seconds, I truly thought that it had never actually been dead and had somehow managed to jump its way out of the sink and hop into the back garden. Yes, even while I was suffocating it in cheap 1 ply toilet paper in the school bathrooms, the poor fucker was still breathing and this had all been a cleverly thought out plan for him to relocate to another fish pond. He was having an affair with a red herring or something.
And then I saw its head on the floor.
Turns out, it wasn’t a daring escape plan; our dog had spotted the fish in the sink and decided to make a meal out of it.
I don’t know why that memory has stayed with me, but it was kind of fun to think of it this afternoon.