The Funeral of Gerry the Gerbil

The Blessing of the Animals Part 2:
The Funeral of Gerry the Gerbil
By Douglas J. Eboch

Hear the story read by the author

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm where the Guppy Sunday School Class was mourning the death of Gerry the Gerbil. Gerry had a good, long life, but would be sorely missed by the pre-school kids, particularly Mary Boyer who loved the little rodent with an enthusiasm bordering on torture.

Gerry died on a Saturday and so a funeral was scheduled for Sunday after church and Sunday school. As the class gathered and Pastor O’Donnell arrived to preside over the ceremony, Karen Winslow, the class’s teacher, realized they needed something to put Gerry in for his interment. A shoe box would be traditional, but there was not such a box anywhere on church property. “I know!” shouted Mary Boyer and ran off toward the church kitchen before anyone could stop her.

Karen knew she should probably not let little Mary run around on her own but the truth was the four year-old was beyond Karen’s control, so she just shrugged at Pastor O’Donnell and waited. A few moments later Mary returned with a medium sized green plastic kitchen container adorned with press-on decal flowers. “That’s perfect, Mary,” Karen said. She wrapped Gerry in a paper towel and laid him inside the container.

They decided they would bury Gerry in the flower garden along the south side of the church. The class had spent the hour decorating a large wooden cross to serve as a tombstone. Karen dug a hole, laid the plastic casket inside and shoved the bead and macaroni encrusted cross into the dirt.

Everyone turned to Pastor O’Donnell. During the delay in finding a casket, his mind had wandered to his lunch plans and so he was caught a bit off guard. But being an experienced clergyman, he had no trouble leaping into a prayer on the spot.

“Oh Lord, we thank you for the six years--”

“Seven,” Karen interjected.

“--Seven years that Gerry the Gerbil cheered our hearts. We commend him to your care. Amen.”

It wasn’t a long prayer, but it seemed to Pastor O’Donnell suitable for a gerbil. He was already turning to retrieve his wife for their lunch date when Karen said, “would anyone like to say a few words about Gerry?”

It turned out the whole class wanted to talk about Gerry. Pastor O’Donnell tried to will his growling stomach quiet as the kids talked about Gerry’s soft fur or how fun it was to chase him in his ball or how his little feet tickled when they let him crawl inside their shirts. Finally, it was Mary Boyer’s turn to speak.

“I remember the last time I got to hold Gerry I shared a piece of cake I had saved in my pocket and he threw up in Mrs. Winslow’s coffee cup.”

Karen blanched. “He threw up in my coffee cup?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Mary said.

That seemed to be a good note to end on, so Pastor O’Donnell raised his hands and said, “Lord, bless Gerry the Gerbil. He will be missed. Amen. Go find your parents, kids.” Then he whispered in Karen’s ear, “Just think of it as something to bring you closer to the deceased.” As the kids followed Pastor O’Donnell back to the lounge, Karen stayed behind, staring at the cross. Mary figured she must be awful sad to have lost such a close companion.


And that was the end of Gerry the Gerbil’s story. Or so Pastor O’Donnell thought.

The next Sunday, 69 year-old Henrietta Miggins stormed up to Pastor O’Donnell and Karen Winslow during coffee hour. Henrietta was frequently storming up to the good Pastor and he braced himself for the inevitable nit pick about that week’s choice of hymn or what some youngster had the affront to wear in church.

“Someone stole my plastic container!” Henrietta said.

“What?” Pastor O’Donnell was not expecting that.

“Last week I brought a coffee cake in a green plastic container with flowers on it. I had to leave early so I asked Tammy Billings to set it aside in the kitchen, which she says she did, and now it’s gone. Somebody stole it!”

Pastor O’Donnell’s stomach was tightening. He caught Karen Winslow’s eye with a severe look before she could speak.

“Calm down, Henrietta,” the Pastor said. “I’m sure it just got moved. Will you give me until next week to find it?”

Henrietta studied him. “Okay,” she said, “but I suspect it was that Florence Barker. She has no respect for other people’s things. And I have a good mind to tell her what I think about that!”

“Just give me a week, Henrietta. Please.”

“Fine.” Henrietta nodded and stomped off.

“We have to tell her!” Karen said.

“We absolutely do not,” Pastor O’Donnell replied. If she finds out we buried a gerbil in her container she will either have a heart attack on the spot or kill one of us.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to return her container next week.”

“You can’t do that! She’ll use it again. That’s sick.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Later that evening under cover of darkness Pastor O’Donnell returned to the church with a shoe box. He dug up the dead gerbil -- still perfectly preserved in his airtight container -- and moved him to the shoebox. Then he reburied him and washed the plastic container thoroughly. The following Sunday he returned the plastic container to Henrietta claiming he had found it in a cabinet.

And that was the end of Gerry the Gerbil’s story. Or so Pastor O’Donnell thought.

The following week he discovered Henrietta had brought the plastic container back to coffee hour, this time filled with banana bread. He blanched a little as he passed through the refreshment line.

“Henrietta made banana bread, Pastor. Why don’t you try some.” It was Karen Winslow.

“No thanks, I’m watching my weight,” said the good Pastor.

“Have some.” Karen said. Her face was very serious.

Pastor O’Donnell smiled and gingerly picked out a piece of bread from the center of the loaf. Karen watched him while he took a bite, chewed, and swallowed, a rather pained look in his eyes.

“Mm, it is good.” He said.

“Just think of it as something to bring you closer to the deceased,” Karen said, then went to talk to her friend Henrietta. Pastor O’Donnell retreated to his office. Suddenly he didn’t feel very well.

And that really was the end of Gerry the Gerbil’s story.