A little boy in Perrin's class at Mother's Day Out brought his hamster for show and tell a few weeks ago. Perrin is STILL talking about that hamster three weeks later. He's been begging me to get him one. I've told him no several times. Sorry, kid... I know exactly who would end up cleaning hamster poop every week and frantically searching the house for Fuzzy when you "accidentally" let him loose. For about half a second, I vaguely wondered if I should get him something really small and simple to care for, like a fish, to teach him about animals and responsibility. Then the saner version of my brain remembered that he is only three. He's more likely to take the fish on a wagon ride than to learn proper animal care.
So after fruitlessly trying to convince me that he needs a pet of his own, he finally decided to take matters into his own hands. He caught a moth, stuck it in a jar, and named it Uncle. (Don't ask me... I thought it was weird too). Then he decided the moth needed some food, so he plunked a piece of dog food in there with it (and was visibly disappointed when the moth didn't gobble it down. Ungrateful moth.) We kept Uncle for a couple of days, and he seemed miraculously healthy. But I was trying to think of a way to get Perrin on board with setting Uncle free in the backyard because I knew he wouldn't last much longer in the jar.
I went in Perrin's room yesterday and found the jar sitting on his train table, empty. "Perrin, where's Uncle?" I asked. "
Oh, I squished him," he said, very matter-of-fact.
Rest in peace, Uncle. I'm sorry you had to endure the trauma of being the first pet of a very unsympathetic three-year-old.
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