2009.03.18
RIP Harry Potter (the fish): this betta defied the data
He did not float.
Harry succumbed yesterday, but not to that cliche of fish death. Hadley, my 10-year-old, found him lying on his side on the dayglow gravel at the bottom of his little tank when she went to feed him. One vacant eye was cast upward at the water's surface. We tapped the tank, and only the disturbance in the current moved him.
There were tears. Harper, my 4-year-old, looked into the tank and bawled. Today there will be a small fish funeral.
Harry will be remembered by this data editor as a living example of the outlier -- that freak record in a database that doesn't match with the others. Your typical betta, or Siamese Fighting Fish, lives two or three years.
Harry was six.
We inherited Harry from Hadley's best friend, Tara, when her family moved from Roanoke to Atlanta not quite a year ago. On the way out of town, they stopped by our house and dropped off Harry, a can of food, a gallon of water already treated for use in his tank, and some instructions.
Even then, Harry was past five and already a marvel for it. Hadley fed him dutifully. Harper fought to help out and take a turn feeding him. I changed his water and kept his tank clean. The rest of the time, he circled his little world on the buffet in the dining room.
Lately, though, he circled less, his vivid color began to fade, and he seemed more interested in drifting down to the gravel than looking up expectantly for another food pellet. We knew his time was near.
So here's to the fish named for the Boy who Lived. He was fittingly named, it turned out. Like the young wizard, he defied the odds and just kept going and going.
Farewell to the Fish who Lived.












