Bradly was only six, but he was very
sensitive about life and death. His cat, Snowball, had died when he
was three, and he had been the one to find her all stiff and curled
up under an evergreen in the back yard. His mother performed a
funeral for Snowball, and Bradly was so moved that he started looking
for other animals to bury.
Lovingly, solemnly, and tenderly he
buried any and all carcases he encountered. Bradly buried fallen baby
birds, stale barn-mice, and old crusty dried up worms. He marked each
of their tiny graves with popcicle sticks. That is, until he found
his brother's bottle cap collection. The shinning monuments, Bradly
felt, did more justice to the loss of life he constantly mourned...(what happens next?)
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