I Am A Graverobber

Thinking about the dead fish this morning (and, by a strange extension, my sushi lunch today) made me think about other dead fish. When I was a youngin', I had goldfish. As goldfish do, they died. I remember distinctly burying the goldfish in the backyard. And I remember, just as distinctly, digging up the grave a year or so later to see what the goldfish looked like.

There was no goldfish when I dug up the grave.

To this day, I've always wondered what happened to it.

Decomposition? Carried off by a wild animal? I'll never know.

But I do feel just a teensy bit guilty for opening that grave.