Mo's no mo

Well it had to happen. But as inevitable as the demise of the big fish was, the end still came as a shock. Mary’s younger son, Maverick, first discovered the foot-and-a-half long creature in Williams Creek about a year ago, and we checked on it regularly. The fish hung out under the water plants in a three-foot-wide, two-foot-deep trench that ran no longer than six feet. Every other fish in the creek was the size of a minnow, so he made quite an impression.

We figured the big one must have been washed down from a dammed-up lake upstream. My owners were careful whom they showed it to. I never mentioned it in this blog for fear of revealing its location. But, given its cramped habitat, we knew it was just a matter of time.

An out-of-town cousin whom we showed it to named it “Mo.” Lately, the same cousin was in town and asked after Mo. My mistress said we hadn’t seen him or her lately and that we were concerned because the drought had dried up the creek. The trenches still had water, but it was stagnant and warm. Nonetheless, we weren’t terribly worried since Mo had survived so long in less-than-optimal conditions.

On Sunday we drove up to the country on yet another triple-digit day. As we crossed the creek bed on our way out, my master and mistress and Chica and I got out of the car to check on Mo. Not ten steps out of the car, we encountered its skeleton on the dry creek bed, picked clean. Further up, we noticed two large great blue heron-size footprints next to the trench.

Mary was pretty sad but when she told her older son, William, he replied, “circle of life.” Another friend noted, “at least someone got a good meal out of it.” Both true, but to us Mo was more than just a fish. He was an example of survival against all odds. And his skeleton will be on display at the house as a memento mori.