Vladimir's Death

This is Vladimir. Or I should say, was, Vladimir.

I've had pets my whole life, mostly dogs, with the occassional rescued lizard, bird, giant grasshopper or other injured animal that crossed my path thrown in the mix.

Part of my degree is in Equine Studies where I learned to train, ride and care for horses, not so much because I wanted a career in the horse world, but more because I loved horses and wanted to learn how to "communicate" with them.

When I moved here two years ago, the only pet I had available were the pantry mice which we had to (heartbreakingly) eradicate via traps covered in peanut butter and cheese. My nurturing nature which adored animals more than most things in life could not bear the long separation from pet-keeping, but I had little money to buy a pet, let along pay for its upkeep.

Then, one day in April, I saw Vladimir.

I was wandering around PetSmart which I sometimes do for fun because I like to look at the animals, when I saw the Betta Fish display. All of the fish were on sale that day, so I had the inkling that maybe I could afford a Betta fish. I examined each fish throught the blue water of their small individual cups on a dusty shelf (the display and conditions have since improved). I wandered the aisles considering the tank and decor options, read the care instructions, estimated the cost and went back to look at the fish.

One fish, a silvery blueish-purple one, caught my eye because he would look straight at my face when I lifted the cup and unfurl his fins to swim regally higher in the water. None of the other fish did this. I decided to think about it some more.

The next day, on my way home from work, I decided that I would buy a betta fish if the silvery blue-purple one was still on the shelf when I arrived. As I drove, I contemplated a possible name for such a fish. I cleared my mind, imagined his lovely self, and immediately, the name "Vladimir" popped into my mind.

Vladimir was a delightful pet. For a fish, he was surprisingly interactive, making me laugh with his funny antics and peculiarities of habit. He only ate his food damp and off of the tip of my finger for the first month. when I cleaned his tank, I'd take him on a tour of the house or the yard in his little cup and he'd peer around at the surroundings. When I talked to him at his tank, he'd look straight at my face through the glass and he learned to stare at the surface of the water when I was near and he wanted food.

As far as pets go, I couldn't cuddle with him or play much, but Betta fish have their own offerings of delight. My life has been so stressful this year, being so poor, without a car, in a horrid job, living situation in flux, getting shingles, that watching beautiful Vladimir swim and ripple and shimmer in his tank was relaxing. I had fun bringing him to my house-sitting stints, looking forward to feeding him when I got home, watching his little fish-lips open and close humorously and listening to the tiny crunch of his tiny teeth as he ate.

It was nice to have someone to take care of for a while and I made sure he had clean water, live plants, and a safe environment.

But apparently Betta fish have a penchant for jumping, even through small openings in their tank covers.

After turning off Vladimir's light and saying goodnight, I went to sleep exhausted after a long day. I woke this morning and went to say good morning to Vladimir as I turned on his tank light. I looked for his rippling fins. My breath caught. I craned my head to look under the lid. No Vladimir!

And then I saw him.

Dead. Dried, dark, with vacant eyes, laying on the counter by his tank.

One of the many gut-wrenching aspects of death is that it transforms any creature into an unrecognizable shell. Was this shriveled, stiff body before me really my beloved lively fish? I wept.

All day, his death has been weighing on me, filling me with guilt, "what-ifs", and incredulation. I was looking forward to showing Vladimir to my three year old nephew next week. I was going to buy Vladimir a spacious new bowl when I moved into my new apartment. None of my plans or hopes meant anything now that he was dead. The only plan I have left for Vladimir is to give him a proper burial beneath the pine tree in the back yard.