Freddie ran into the kitchen crying and cradling something in his hands. “Mommy, my turtle is dead,” Freddie told his mother as he held the turtle out to her.

His mother kissed him on the head, then said, “That’s all right. We’ll wrap him in tissue paper, put him in a little box, then have a nice burial ceremony in the back yard. After that, we’ll go out for an ice cream soda, and then get you a new pet. I don’t want you . . .” Her voice trailed off as she noticed the turtle move. “Freddie, your turtle is not dead after all.”

“Oh,” the boy said. “Can I kill it?”