Sam disappeared this morning for about 3 minutes. We were calling him and looking for him. It was time to walk out the door for school. We couldn't find him anywhere.
We finally found him in the backyard hunched down looking at a birdie on the sidewalk. He wanted to keep the birdie for a pet. He wanted to name the birdie Tommy. I'm pretty sure in the 3 minutes he shared with Tommy, he made lots of pet plans.
But Tommy was a featherless hatchling who must have fallen from his nest. He was kind of a dead birdie.
I put Tommy in a plastic bag to toss him in the trash can, but Sam asked me to "take care of him." I said I would bury him and place a tombstone on his grave.
Of course, the first thing he asked when he got home from school was "did you bury Tommy?" I fibbed a bit, because I had forgotten, and told him I was waiting for him so we could do it together.
Sam said it was "gross" and he didn't want to touch Tommy. So I conducted the burial with an audience of one. We placed the rock on his grave (the words on his tombstone are Sam's exact words).
After dinner, Sam said "I hope Tommy is okay." Rob and I feared momentarily that Sam didn't really grasp Tommy's....shall we say...situation?
Tommy has now been added to the litany of people in the "God Bless _____" prayer before bedtime. He comes after Izzy and before Grandma and Grandpa. Sorry Mom and Dad.
