My eldest DS has, or should I say had, two frogs. Yesterday, when he returned home from school, he found that one of the frogs had turned quite pale and was breathing in a labored fashion. He was quite upset and called me.

DS: "Mom, he did something to her."
Me: "What? What are you talking about?"
DS: "The frog, Mom. Something happened to Sweetie. I think HE attacked her."

("He" is the other frog)

Me: "Oh, no... I'll check it out when I get home. See you in a few minutes."

So, as soon as I walked in the door, I was ushered back to the bedroom to find a pathetic little frog holding onto the edge of her water bowl with her hind legs spread backward in a lazy position. She was unwilling to eat the cricket I dangled in front of her in a vain attempt to get her better, even knowing she was likely dying.

Me: "I think she's going to die, honey. I'm sorry... "

At this point, my DS stormed out of his room. At that moment, sweetie flipped herself backward into the water and began to flail about. Should I rescue her? She'll drown if I don't flip her back over! Or, perhaps this is better because the suffering won't be as long and labored... ?

DS came back into the room to see his flailing frog... "What happened?! What did you do to her?"

With a near sense of guilt, I quickly explained, "She did it herself!"

Eventually, Sweetie met her watery demise. DS scooped her out of her water bowl and asked everyone to join him around the toilet for her "funeral service".

There we stood peering over a belly-up frog who'd sunk to the bottom of the porcelain bowl. I softly hummed "Taps" as the lid was lowered and then, "FLUSH!"

Down.
       She.
            Went.

... Followed by a moment of silence.

RIP, Sweetie.