The Burial of Zeta

Illustrations found on the internetAs I was walking with an alumnus through the hallway of 3rd floor yesterday, Dave the Dean of Theology and Cheryl his secretary emerged from the stairwell. Dave was carrying a jug-shaped vase with little glass beads at the bottom of it, and Cheryl was carrying a hammer.

"Well," I said. "Here they are!" The alumnus and I had been looking for someone in the School of Theology.

"We were at a funeral," said Cheryl. She saw puzzlement on my face as my glance switched back and forth between the vase and the hammer. "Zaida's funeral," she added.

I still didn't get it. "Zaida?" I asked. I know a lot of people in this community, but not Zaida.

"Zaida the Theology beta," she said. "He died over the weekend," she added sadly.

"Ah," I said. "And how do you spell that name?"

"Z-E-T-A," Cheryl said.

Oh. Theology. Greek. Zeta completes the Greek alphabet. I get it.

"Did he have any personality?" I asked skeptically. Seems to me that you need not make a huge deal about the demise of something that has no personality.

"Oh yes," Cheryl said fervently. "Lots. Every day he would greet me, and if I didn't feed him right away, he would fan out his fins and bump his nose against the glass, trying to get me to notice."

Well that's rather endearing.

"I couldn't just flush him down the toilet," she explained. "That would be too sad. And Dave said we could have a funeral, and we couldn't exactly have it in the women's or the men's restroom with both of us in there, so we buried Zeta."

"Where?" I asked.

"By the roses in the prayer garden by the Library," she said. "It's so beautiful there."

"Ah."

"And Dave said some nice words for the funeral."

Dave always has some good words to say. We all count on him in that way.

"Are you going to get another beta?" I asked.

"Not yet. I think I need a little time to mourn this one, first."

Sure.

We discussed pet funerals, and the proposal forming in Cheryl's head that she would like to plan and offer pet funerals as a free community service to heartbroken pet owners. Not a bad idea, I thought. I told her about the lady on Mountain View. I think she could have used Cheryl.

When I got home last night I told Husband the story, hoping that by telling him about it I'd remember the details to blog about it. A funeral for Zeta the Beta, who now resides among roses in the the prayer garden by the library . . . well, that's good blog fodder, is it not?

"Yeah," said Husband. "Too bad about the burial, though. Now Zeta will forever remain a fish out of water."