A few years ago, when I first started blogging, I created a blog for the Berkeley. To be funny of course, but also I’ve always wanted to write from his viewpoint. Since he can’t tell me what he’s thinking, I can just imagine it, right
Anyway, his blog on May 10, 2005, was the following:

My Big Uncle Rocky

i want to tell you all about my hero. his name is Rocky. actually he has a longer akc registered name, but i can’t spell it, so you’ll just have to know him as Rocky.

he’s my uncle. well, my uncle through family. his human-mom is my human-dad’s mother. she’s great too – she lets me visit even though i used to have lots of accidents in her house and i bark really loud and i get can really dirty in the backyard… but let’s get back to Uncle Rocky. i love him. i want to be just like him.

isn’t he amazing looking?

he can do some pretty amazing tricks too. but not so much anymore since we’re both old now. he’s a good teacher too. he taught me to beg for treats from certain drawers around the house. he taught me to wait until my paws get wiped when we get back in the house. and he taught me how to play rough like a big dog! that’s the bestest part of being friends with Uncle Rocky. we get to play rough, though i am kinda little and he steps on me sometimes. i don’t mind. i just love my Uncle Rocky.

*** I forgot to tell you why I let Berkeley post his message…Mom & Dad Morningstar decided to relieve Rocky of his old age pains on Tuesday, March 13th. That was 1 week after his 12th Birthday. I took Berkeley over to their house for one last play date, and I could tell that Rocky was ready to end his bodily suffering. Our poor dog didn’t understand or know why we were there on a Monday evening. It’s been almost 2 months since Rocky has gone, but Berkeley has not been in their house since this last goodbye. He doesn’t know why he isn’t allowed inside when I stop by to pick something up. He especially doesn’t know why we visit a different house to see Jon’s parents (as they are getting ready to move). How do I tell my dog that his bestest friend ever is gone?

Many of you did not know that we had another pet in addition to our beloved, spoiled Berkeley. In October of 2004, we became the proud, though often neglectful, owners of a red Betta fish at the reception of our friends, Rosanne & Jason Clark. I’m not sure what type of Betta he was. We didn’t even have a picture of him (so this image is borrowed from someone else). His name was Berkeley’s Fish. Yes, our dog had his own pet. and like most children, he did not take care of his pet, we – as the human parents – did all the work.

Berkeley’s Fish was an odd fishy. He would follow me with his eyes while I cooked or stood near the countertop where his bowl was perched. Especially if he was hungry. Yet, when I would put the food in his bowl, he wouldn’t eat it unless he saw it hit the water. So of course, that led to dirty, murky water, which in turn would create issues for his little skin. A few months ago, he even had a bout with pop-eye. If you’ve never seen a fish with pop-eye, it’s really gross and intriguing at the same time. There’s this weird bubble that forms over an eye and bulges out of the side of the fish’s head. And if not treated properly, the eye could fall out! (Yes, our fishy also had drugs for his conditions.)

Anyway, the past several weeks, Fishy has been looking and acting rather lethargic. So, I knew something was wrong, but couldn’t tell just what. There wasn’t anything growing on him, like fungus or parasites, and there wasn’t anything falling off him, like his scales or fins. He just didn’t seem right.

Last night, I knew he was close to the end. He was doing a weird tail stand. It looked like he was walking on his back fins on the bottom of the fish bowl. Like there was an extra weight anchoring him down. And he was breathing oddly. He would try so hard to get to the top of the bowl to get air, but he couldn’t remain floating high enough, while “standing” mind you, to get the oxygen he needed. He also had some spastic moments. He’d start to float sideways or downward to the bottom, and then get a surge of something in his body, so he would end up swimming wildly around the bowl. Needless to say, after 3 hours of watching him do this off and on, I noticed he stopped moving and was just laying at the bottom of the bowl. He used to do this before, and we could stimulate him to move again. But Jon said, “Nope, he’s not breathing.” and that was it.

I had to leave the room, while Jon carried the bowl to the bathroom for the burial/swoosh of Berkeley’s Fish. I didn’t realize how attached I was to this fish. It’s not like he comforted me, or cuddled with me, or anything like the Berkeley does. But I still feel a sense of loss and sadness.

Goodbye Berkeley’s Fish. Thank you for being our fish for as long as you could. You were beautiful and odd and easy to take care of.