My middle son was VERY upset. Even though he hardly remembered to feed Perry, and couldn't ever play with him, this was a devasting turn of events. So my oldest who is big on empathy quickly organized a memorial service for the frog. The headstone was lovingly inscribed with Perry's vital information should anyone centuries from now look under our lilac bush and wonder what frog was once buried there.
The order of events I was given went like this:
After I played a solemn tune on my guitar, Thing 1 gave a speech:
And an acrostic poem was shared by Thing 2:
And then the empty casket burial was held under the lilac bush. My husband had to direct events because I was having serious problems keeping in my laughter tears. Finally, Thing 3 was assigned these announcements:
And we all shuffled inside for snacks and a prayer.
And that was that. Or so we thought. Two weeks later Thing 3 brought me a rubber frog he found under the sectional sofa. It was only after I was holding it in my BARE HANDS I realized it was Perry's mummified remains.
