12 February 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3012: retired goldfish

“Sometimes I just need to ask the big questions like, why do goldfish gotta die to leave you? Why can't they just retire and have a pond to themselves for a while?”

Capt. R.E. Ludlow had a special soft spot in his heart for his seven-year-old granddaughter Amanda, and her endless concern for all living things.

“Well,” he said, “that's kind of our fault, because we usually don't know when they hit retirement age until they die, but if we did, we could maybe start a pond for retired goldfish. But the other thing, Amanda, is that animals live differently from us in that they live from instinct and not choices. That is, God put in them to do what they need to do to live without having to figure out so many things, so, they tend to do what they do until they die. To retire is to withdraw from a field – and that's a choice.”

“Oh,” Amanda said. “So, you can get tired, and you can choose to go back, but when you retire, you're done with it and not going back because you're tired of being tired of it. You are re-tired.”

“More or less,” the captain said with a smile. “That's not quite how that word works, but we'll take it as a working definition for this conversation. Yes, by the time people get to my age they are often tired of working and they are getting too old to be able to keep up without harming themselves – so in that way you are right. But age and exhaustion are not always the reason. Sometimes we retire from things because we have done all that we can, and sometimes because we have done all that we want to. The point is, it's a choice that animals do not have, being guided solely by instinct.”

Amanda considered this, and then snuggled into her grandfather's chest.

“I remember I have a whole 'nother grandpa, and he doesn't even call,” she said, “so, thank you for choosing to be a good grandpa and to love me.”

“And I am never going to retire – I will have to go out like the goldfishes, and that is my choice,” he said as he held her close. “At some point, you will not need me to take care of you like you do now, but know this: to my last breath, if all I can do then is pray, I am not retiring from loving you. Not happening. That is my choice.”

Amanda looked up at him.

“What about my mom?” she said.

“Your mother Anne was my daughter,” he said. “I did not retire from loving her. I did understand she had a right to her own decisions. So do you when you become an adult. However, loving you is my decision, and it will not be changed.”

“I kinda needed to know that,” Amanda said. “I feel extra safe now.”

“Good, Amanda. That's the point.”

The little girl snuggled in and went right to sleep with a smile for her second short nap of the day, and did not see the tears of mingled love and grief flooding her grandfather and adoptive father's eyes.