“I have some sad news.”
His son is six, his first daughter four, his second daughter two.
“What’s the matter?”
“Dorothy the fish has died.”
“Oh. Can we get a cat now?”
“Wait. Do you have any questions about what happened to Dorothy and where she is now?”
“No. Do you think mom will let us get a cat?”
“No. But let’s talk about Dorothy. Her spirit has separated from her body. We are going to bury her body.”
“Where is it?”
“Still in the bowl. Let’s take it out to the garden to bury it.”
He digs a hole near their tomato plants.
“Native Americans buried fish near their plants to help them grow.”
No one says anything.
“Does anyone want to say any last words for Dorothy?”
“Have fun in the dirt being dead!”
“Can we go play now?”
He covers the hole by himself.