One day last week the kids and their friends asked for a shovel. "What for?" I asked.
"We found a dead raccoon and we want to bury him," Christian informed me.
Let the dead bury the dead, I thought. I suggested we call Animal Control, but the kids were adamant about giving it a proper burial. They were careful to not touch the animal with bare hands. The little gravesite was decorated with rocks and flowers. Upon the headstone they tried to write in chalk, "We love you, Pokey."
Christian told his friends that the raccoon was now up in Heaven with God. A day later their friend decided to unearth the creature to look at its bones when it fully decomposes. Gross.
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