Alex caught a salamander yesterday. Poor thing probably died of fright within 2 minutes of his capture.
I found an old jar and let Alex keep it on the back porch while we had dinner. After dinner, Tommy tried to convince Alex that the salamander was dead, to no avail.
Alex insisted that Tommy remove him from the jar and let him hold it one more time. Tommy shook it out into Alex's waiting hand. Alex looked him over and then proceeded to place said dead salamander on MY KITCHEN COUNTER. Belly side up. And thus began the chest compressions for the salamander.
Luckily, the salamander had already kicked the bucket and was not revived. A salamander funeral was swiftly thrown together and executed.
A half of bottle of Lysol later, my kitchen counter bore no traces of the CPR for the salamander.
Why do these things always happen to me?
8 years ago
that is too cute... sad for the salamander but cute.
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