So yesterday, the eventual had-to-happen occurred. Our guinea pig “got dead,” as Ronan put it.
Ronan wept and wept, the poor little guy. Norah was sad, asked if we could get a puppy now, and then cried over having to bury her rather than keep her in the house. Aiden immediately went scientific and explained *why* we couldn’t keep her in the house while she was dead. Norah’s reaction was the most complex–lots of questions about how and why she died, what would happen to her now, etc. She took comfort that she probably died in her sleep and not in pain, as we (thank you, God) didn’t hear her squeak-shrieking in distress.
The kids each went in and looked at her, and the boys gave her a couple final pets–Norah was too freaked out by the fact that she was dead to pet her. I cut appropriately-sized paper to tape on the shoebox that was her final resting place and the kids decorated it with pictures of Phoebe and beads.
Aiden chose to help dig the hole, and he and Norah put the box in the ground. And yes, I tied it up in a plastic bag (“to keep the box nice”). While digging, we turned up a Phoebe-shaped rock that is now decorated like a guinea pig and placed as a memorial stone.
And now…let the nagging for a puppy begin. I previously answered that request with the fact that we could not get a puppy while we had Phoebe–how’s that for lack of forethought?