Sara & I named this painting, “Under the Sea”

Today I went about the tricky and complicated task of explaining to Sara that all of the bonnethead sharks at the Indy Zoo have died.  At the hand of one very, very sorry Zookeeper who made an error in their tank ozone level.  We had big plans in this fine weather to take an afternoon stroll through the Zoo, and it was unlikely to go unnoticed by Sara the Sleuthy Sleuth that the ENTIRE SHARK TANK WAS INDEED….EMPTY.  We’ve spent so much time watching that particular tank that even I cried when I read of their fate in the paper.

I explained to her that sharks need special water with salt and the Zookeeper put the wrong kind of water in the tank.  To which she replied (sadly with her head hung, mirroring my expression), “Yeah.  Too much pepper.”

To process this new information, she immediately asked that we play of game of “Doctor”.  We took doll Beatrice and Pooh Bear to the doctor, and Sara desperately paged me with her doctor pager (yep, she has a fake pager that beeps), “Dr. Mommy!  We must take our dolls to the hospital right now!”  We quickly dialed 9-1-1, made many ambulance sounds, called our ETA to the triage nurse, and arrived with Beatrice and Pooh Bear, both very ill.  I was Beatrice’s doctor.  She had pneumonia, a collapsed lung, and a double ear infection.  I started an IV, inserted a chest tube, did a quick head to toe, admitted her to the ICU, and started some IV meds.

Sara had Pooh Bear.  She paged me about 12X (seriously, all that pretend money spent on med school and she can’t assess a single Pooh Bear without help): Pooh Bear drank too much water and milk.  Sara tried in vain to pump his stomach.  She told me he required “a lot of doctoring”, but it was of no use.  He died.  Even though, in her exact words, she administered, “Princess Vitamin C Vitamins, one in the morning, two at night, and 3 in the yesterday.”  My father, the worshiper of Vitamin C and its amazing powers, is having a good laugh right now.  Seriously, he’s like the Windex Dad in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”, but I digress.  Clearly Sara does not conceive of death because a few moments later it was her determination that what he really needed was a “good cheering up”.  She whipped out her Recorder and played a tune, but then said dejectedly,  “No, it’s of no use.  It didn’t work.  Pooh’s still dead.”

And there you have it: shark death processed.  Step 1.  Seriously, Step 1.  We’re going to be talking about these poor sharks forever, I guarantee it.  The poor salt and pepper sharks will be discussed until they’ve been replaced…twice.