What does God eat?

This was the question Bruce the 5 year old asked at breakfast.  Just as he was tucking in to his own concoction of rice bubbles with blueberries.

Often he doesn’t wait for an answer.  He didn’t this time either.

“Maybe he eats dogs that die and….”  <look of absolute horror> “You don’t think he ate OUR dog do you?”.

Me:  “No, I don’t think God eats all the creatures that die.  I don’t know what he eats”.

Bruce is fairly happy with that answer.  He moves on.  That conversation ends.  It could go on but I let it go.  I don’t say “But Puddy’s ashes are under our frangipani tree…” because I’ve learnt from having my older boy Squidge and having had such conversations, that I’d just be opening up a world of pain in the form of never ending questions.  Never ending questions are okay, in the car, when we’re driving to my parents which is 40+ minutes away.  Not on a weekday when you’re trying to get ready to go to school and work.

Sometimes it pays to just let it go….

Puddy (RIP lovely dog) resting in the shade with the boys


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