My granddaughter’s unusal pet

Not long ago I posted about the unusual number of woolly worms on my porch. Yesterday after I picked my granddaughter up we came home and as I was about to park the car she screams, “No, Nana, don’t park here! You’ll smush the woolly worms!”

I didn’t know she’d developed such an affection for them. I parked the car and as soon as I unfastened her seatbelt she was out and looking for worms.

“Here he is,” she exclaimed.

“Here who is?” I asked.

“My favorite worm,” she said, like I should have known.

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Woolly,” she said.

Duh..

I thought about pointing out that there were several more Mr. Woollys around and asking how she knew this one was her favorite, or for that matter how she knew it was a he, but I didn’t.

“Sit down, Nana,” she said.

I looked down at my four year old granddaughter, standing there holding a worm in her hand and thought about the meal I needed to cook, the clothes I needed to wash, etc.

“Please,” she said softly.

That did it. Supper could wait. I sat down and for the next few minutes we played with Mr. Woolly.

“He needs a bowl of water to drink,” she said.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I said, envisioning Mr. Woolly floating in a bowl.

“He needs something to eat,” she said. “Cheetos.”

She wasn’t fooling me. Cheetos are her favorite food.

“Maybe later. You and I have to cook supper soon.”

After several more minutes of conversation with Mr. Woolly she decided to put him to bed (outside thankfully) and we went in the house.

It got pretty cold last night and this morning when we went outside Mr. Woolly wasn’t looking so good. In fact he was stiff as a board. I tried to distract her, thinking she’d be upset.

She saw him of course and scooped him up in her hand. “Oh, Mr. Woolly, what happened to you?”

I prepared myself for the tears.

She looked at him and tossed him over in the grass and never said another word.

So much for Mr. Woolly. He didn’t even rate a funeral. Which reminds me of a cousin I had whose mother presided over many animal funerals. Don’t laugh, it’s very real to a child but my aunt was required not only to sing a hymn (their favorite was Shall We Gather At The River), she had to give a eulogy as well. Not just for pets but for any dead animal her children found, and on the farm life and death are almost a daily occurrence. By the time my cousin’s were grown she had probably preached more funerals than most ministers.

I wonder if she ever held a funeral for a woolly worm?