After church but before we buried Brownie, Max told our priest what had happened. He produced a prayer for the death of a pet, which was quite nice but difficult for me to read, there in the bushes holding hands with my son after we put the little guy in the ground. Must have been the sunlight. Maybe it was the wind. Of all the things about Brownie's life and death, his funeral was cheapest.
Death is essentially a private matter.
I asked Max if I could write this column, and his permission was conditioned on me sparing a long list of the physical details of Brownie's death. I think I've done that. We're thinking about getting another vegetarian rodent. The price is right, and we have a name picked out. And life goes on.