When I was little, I had a betta named Firebolt. It was a little red veiltail, absolutely adorable. Looking back on it, it was horrible how we treated that fish, although we didn't know better. My mom got him in a vase with a lily in the top and was told that he would eat the roots. I think we fed him once in a while with pellets, but not nearly enough. I never remember the water being dirty. Hopefully the plant kept it sort of clean.
Anyway, I insisted he was female (it's still weird saying 'he'), and I remember sitting at the table watching him swim about. I got kind of attached to him, although my mother would insist otherwise. When he died, I buried him in a stream and marked it with a big rock, and drew pictures of him in his memory. It's still there, I still have the drawings, and we still have his vase. I'm hoping I can get rid of that gross lily and plant something nice in there.
Anyway, rest in peace, little fish. I wish I had known to take better care of you. You were a great pet.
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