We used to have two little finches that sounded like a dog's squeaky toy. They were nice little birds that were calming to listen to. (Nothing like our cockatoo.... whoa!) They died last year, but my grandson still remembers them. He likes to tell me every now and then that they are dead. (Just like my dog.) Yes Ethan, they are dead. He asks if they are in heaven. I tell him they are. He wants to know if he will see them when he gets to heaven. Yes Ethan, you will. (Now I know that animals don't have souls and that they don't go to heaven, but I'm not going to tell a three year old that. Anyway, I kind of like to think that my dogs will be waiting in "the Light" to greet me.)
Then he looks out at the empty flower pots on the patio and says, "Grandma, your flowers are dead." (If I had a dollar for every time I heard the word Grandma, I would be rich. Every sentence begins with Grandma. He'd be rich if he got one for every time I say, "Yes, Ethan.")
"Grandma, do flowers go to heaven?" I did tell him no on that one. But hey, why not? It would sure make for a beautiful sight.