Monday, March 20, 2006
I miss my old goldfish, Buford. He's three and a half - not bad for a goldfish. All of my other goldfish have lasted a month max. My brother, Shane bought me Buford when I moved into my first apartment. I picked his name because I liked it, not realizing it was from a 1970's movie called Walking Tall where the character Buford gets murdered. My Buford is one tough boy. He's survived starvation, overfeeding, extreme temperature changes and constipation. He's been through a lot with me including moving, grumpy people, bad meals, exams, the flu, break-ups and everything I've forgotten to mention. We go way back Buford and I. He was, and still is, the only roomate I've ever had. We've had deep heart-to-heart chats over the years. He's a great listener, never judges, and lets me do the talking.
When I moved to a new apartment over six months ago, Buford was slightly neglected. All the changes put his meals and bowl cleanings on the back burner. When I realized he almost fried in my sun room, I knew Buford needed a home where he could get regular meals and consistent bathing, but that wasn't too far from me. My parents' house seemed to be the perfect home for Buford. He sits high atop my bathroom shelf beside a plant far away from our impish cat, Jack. I think Buford thinks he is in the Amazon. He's happy. We still converse when I'm home and nature calls. I miss him being a room away, but his well-being is more important.
The thing I love about Buford is that he's not your typical orange goldfish. He is white. Buford has a funky, unique edge. To me, anything a little different from the norm is beautiful and deserves respect. Buford is no excepton.