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I was startled awake this AM by a tearful Glam informing me that Gupples, her pet goldfish, had died last night.

Still somewhat groggy and not knowing exactly what to do (we’ve never had a pet die before), I just hugged her and let her cry. I did tell her I was sorry to hear Gupples had died, and I acknowledged that it must have been a little scary to find him like that first thing after she woke up. She nodded into the now-soggy shoulder of my bathrobe.

A few minutes later, Glam wiped her eyes and said, “I better get moving. Can you and Daddy have a funeral for Gupples while I’m at school? I don’t want to be there.” I solemnly agreed. “Do you want me to move him out of your bedroom for now?” I asked. “Yes, please,” came the grateful reply.

I left Glam to finish getting ready for school and went back into our bedroom to inform a still-sleepy Johnny Lingo of our impending responsibility and to alert him to the funerary fishbowl now sitting on our bathroom counter.

This afternoon, while Glam was at school, Johnny Lingo and I sent Gupples to his final resting place with a three-flush salute. RIP Gupples.

Tonight as I was clearing away dinner, I noticed Glam’s birthday wish list on the fridge: where she’d crossed out “goldfish” before, she’s written “goldfish” in again. Hope springs eternal. πŸ™‚