Remembering Jaws

Animals are family for the Morley group. And it's always really tough for us when one leaves for good. Here's what my Dad wrote about Jaws. He was a Big fish in a little pond. He'll be remembered for a good long time.

We lost Jaws last night. I found him washed ashore on the little pond this morning. Mom and I buried him in the bottom of the pond. He would have been 14 in November. I don't know how old grass carp can get, but that's old for a fish. He'd glide around the pond a monarch, his big fin in the air like a sail. Every spring and summer, he'd help me dispose of grass clippings. I always mowed the pond bank in the direction that spewed the cuttings out onto the water. He'd follow along, flopping in the water like a big hog, feasting on fresh grass. I wonder if his antics in these past three months or so weren't signs of his aging, no longer strong and able. He would float for hours on the surface, lying on his side. Sometimes he would float belly up. We'd start out on our morning walk, see him floating belly up, and think he'd passed on to that great sargasso sea in the sky. But he would always stir and come over to the shore for the hay breakfast I'd throw to him. To feed half a dozen Canadians, one morning I put a little pile of corn chops on the narrow strand of pond bottom revealed by the receding water. I came back from my walk to see Jaws having breakfast. He'd rush to the shallows, flip over on his side ashore, just barely reaching the corn chops, grab some, flip two or three times, and flop back into the water. He continued until he had his fill. He was a big boy -- about three feet long and around 20 pounds. He never saw much of the world, but he owned the part he did see.