"When my goldfish, Mister Wiggles, died we flushed him down the toilet. When my kitten, Tiger Stripe, died I tried the same deal, and we had to call a plumber to snake the pipes. What a big mess. Poor Tiger Stripe."
When I was in elementary school one of my classes had a fish tank. One was one of those black goldfish with puffy things under his eyes.
One day, he was dead. We had the type of filter that sat near the bottom and sucked up water. This meant whenever a fish was dying it would lose the strength to fight the current and would end up plastered to the filter. This is where the fish was.
The teacher told me to scoop him out with the net and flush him into fishy heaven. I scooped him out and took him to the bathroom.
I plopped him in a un-flushed urinal. He promptly began swimming about in his new golden home. I wasn't quite sure what to do. He wasn't swimming happily or like he was actually healthy. Somewhere in my kid brain I knew he was still at the edge of death.
But I left him there and asked my teacher what to do. She told me to flush him anyway.
I went back and flushed him.
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