Almost a week ago, Connor adopted a pet woolly caterpillar, plucked from the great outdoors. For Connor, it was love at first sight, so he named him ("Woolly"), housed him (in an OUTDOOR habitat), and entertained him for days. It appeared to be a win-win situation: I dodged the whole "Can we get a pet?" plea for another week, and we acquired a pet with absolutely no maintenance or upkeep. Things looked good.
Then, today happened. I was pulling into the driveway when I heard a slight crunching sound. I jumped out of the car and gazed at what used to be Woolly's habitat smashed, tattered and tire marked. I examined the carnage: pieces of Wholly's habitat were scattered about, but no Woolly. I imagined the worst (Woolly became embedded on the tire), but hoped for the best (Woolly leaped from his home seconds before my tire came bearing down.)
Now came the really hard part: breaking the news to Connor. I sat him down, and gingerly admitted my wrongdoings. "Connor, I've got some bad news." I sighed, "I ran over Woolly's home and I'm afraid he may be gone."
Connor looked startled at first, but then he replied, "Mom, I've got good news for you. Woolly wasn't in his home today. I think he turned into a moth."
Whew!! I think the dog discussion may be back on the table.