Emily Garman: On August 14, 2020 I locked eyes with a beautiful crowntail king betta fish. From his royal blue scales, to his wispy caudal fins I knew I needed to bring him home. Shortly after purchased, the blissful betta was given the name Gillbert. He was purchased with low expectations, having cost only five dollars. Nevertheless, he was an ambitious soul. Gilbert was a good fish—he never drooled or pooped on me, which is more than I can say for other members of my household, both human and non-human. Unconditionally, he would express excitement when I came home or walked past his tank. Probably because he wanted to be fed. Still, he was always appreciative about being fed, and never complained about my cooking… even if his fish pebbles did expire in 2018. On the morning of September 7, 2020 (only three weeks after purchase) I noticed Gillbert’s once lushly long caudal fin was wilted and without life. I did what any normal 21 year old girl would do, I called my dad. With sadness in my heart I explained that Gilly had been looking sick and I was not sure what I was doing wrong, my dad jokingly suggested I take him to the vet, but offered moral support during this hard time. Throughout the day I worried about Gillbert and wondered how much longer he had with us. To ensure he knew he was loved during his last bit of time in his tank, I gave him extra pebbles, and spoke soft words though the glass. Later that evening Gillbert was found laying on his side at the bottom of his bowl. With a single look, I knew he was gone. We had a small funeral, in the bathroom of my boyfriend’s apartment, where we told stories and rejoiced over the fond memories we shared with our Gilly Boy. When everyone had spoken we plopped Gillbert into the toilet, gave him a final salute, and flushed him to the great beyond. I sleep soundly at night knowing Gillbert is looking down at me while he lives in a better place, with an endless line of hands offering his favorite snack.