An Obituary
By Luke McLuke
Oswald Fish is dead. Oswald was merely a goldfish, but he
was Luke’s friend and companion. For nine years he swam around in a large bowl
and kept us in a good humor by his antics. He was the last of a family of 10.
All of his brothers and sisters died off some seven years ago, and Oswald lived
alone. He wasn’t a fancy goldfish. He was about half sucker minnow and half
sardine, but he was a cheerful cuss, a boon companion and a faithful friend. He
never complained until the last, and took things as they came like a real
optimist. Prohibition killed Oswald. One day, some six years ago, Luke
accidentally slopped a beer out of a glass was standing over Oswald’s bowl.
Oswald dashed up to the surface and tasted the beer. He sucked up every drop he
could find and hunted eagerly for more. We gave him a little more. Oswald drank
it. Then he pulled off a three-ring circus all by himself. He looped the loop,
stood on his head, stood on his tail and three triple somersalts. Every day
after that we saw that Oswald received his daily ration of beer. And Oswald
displayed his gratitude by pulling off his three-ring circus. But Prohibition
put an end to beer, and two weeks ago we gave Oswald his last drink. Every day
since he has tried to attract our attention so that we would give him his beer,
but we had none to give. Poor Oswald sulked at the bottom of the bowl for days
at a time and would not be comforted. He would not eat, he would not drink
water. Yesterday morning we found him dead. The water in the bowl had turned to
salt. He had wept so much that his tears turned the water into brine and thus caused
his death. He died of thirst.
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