Bush the Betta Fish, R.I.P.

This post will probably be used against me during the nomination period for the "Most Miserably Bad Parent in All of Lincoln Award" (MMBPALA), but I'm willing to risk it.

Tuesday night we bundled up the family and headed for Wal-Mart. Pete has wanted a betta fish for several weeks, and we decided that having a pet (a pseudo-pet, anyway) would be a good experience for him. We got the vase, the plant, the glass rocks, and the fish. For reasons that continue to remain unknown to me, Pete named his fish "Bush." I'd like to think that it is because he is a conservative at heart, but he probably couldn't tell you who George Bush was even if you dangled the Thomas the Tank Engine complete DVD set in front of him. During Bush's first night in our home Pete made sure he was well fed, and he wrapped his blankie around the vase so that Bush would stay warm. Classic.

To back up a bit, the directions that came with the vase made it very clear that we were to use bottled water, but that tap water left out overnight would work in a pinch. Unfortunately, we were fresh out of bottled water and, as Pete was jumping up and down in a circle waiting for the moment Bush would enter his new aqueous home, the overnight option was not feasible. As any dad in my situation would do, I declared that we would risk it. Bush seemed like a hearty little fellow, and if any fish could survive mild chlorine poisoning it was him.

Turns out I was wrong. As Amanda and the kids rushed out the door for a meeting at church this morning, Pete told Bush "See ya later," and then blew him a kiss. I looked a little closer at the vase to see how he was doing, only to find him drifting casually above the rocks at the bottom of the vase. Upside down. I swirled the water around for a moment to make sure that he wasn't just sleeping. The autopsy results are still pending, but in my heart I know that I KILLED BUSH.

So now I have a bit of a moral dilemma. On the one hand, I could explain to Pete exactly what happened. He's only 3 1/2, but he is probably ready to start learning about death on some level. On the other hand, I don't really like the idea of Pete having to wonder if *he* will die in the near future because daddy didn't take very good care of him. In that case, I could run out still this morning and get another teal/blue betta fish and hope that he never notices the differences between Bush 1 and Bush 2. I suppose that would technically be lying, but it would be justifiable for the greater good, in this case the mental health and innocence of my son.

What should I do? Seriously, I could use the help. If you have any brilliant ideas, please leave them in the comments section. I'll let you know when I decide what I'm going to do.