It was time to put Edgar down. He’d had a long life for one of his kind, and deserved to depart peacefully and with respect. Edgar had been having a harder time of it lately, trouble getting up in the morning, not moving very well, and seemed depressed. Sarah decided it was time.
“Edgar is suffering. It’s time we put him down. I want it to be done humanely.”
“Umm, Edgar is a goldfish.”
“Beta. Not goldfish.”
Thus ensued a search, with surprising results, for the most humane way to, er, help a goldfish beta into the next, um, bowl. A quick web search exposed a couple of posts attributing an unusual method to PETA (unconfirmed), which involved basically getting the fish tipsy and then slowly freezing it to death. Even for humans, freezing is considered a relatively comfortable way to die. I would imagine having a buzz on would make it even more comfortable. Unfortunately, our liquor cabinet was a bit on the bare side.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“All we have is 10-year-old Laphroaig.”
“That’s really good whiskey.”
“I mean, it’s really really good whiskey.”
Silence. Extended silence. Of the ‘you’re not hearing me’ sort. Uncomfortable silence.
“Um, okay, let’s have a drink. With Edgar.”
Being the only scotch drinker in the house, it was left to me to have a snort and pour one for Edgar.
Edgar seemed to take to Laphroaig. He went peacefully. I may have even heard distant bagpipes welcoming him…