It’s 2021.

Students were dragging themselves to school.

Teachers were pulling up their masks.

Everyone was just trying to get through the day.

And in room FL, as history and econ teacher Matthew Wolfe was teaching class, he looked outside his window wall to see science teacher Michael Pisani trudging up the grassy path with a trowel.

“Usually when he’s outside my window so close it’s, ‘Hey I forgot my keys, will you let me in?’” Wolfe said. “That happens probably once every two months.”

Pisani still smiled and waved but to Wolfe’s surprise instead of popping the question he just started digging.

And upon closer inspection Wolfe saw Moto, the huge, slimy, squishy African Bull Frog who was around 40 years and — up until that point — had called Northwest’s environmental education classroom home. 

But Moto was wrapped up in paper towels.

And Pisani was making a grave. 

At that point, confused, Wolfe started a conversation through the glass while his students watched. 

Here’s how Wolfe and Pisani remember that brief talk going:

What are you doing?

Burying Moto.

Why here? Why not out in the environmental ed. lab?

Because it’s too far to walk.

“Okay, part of it was to annoy him,” Pisani admits.

So the only reasonable thing Wolfe could think to do after the burial was have everyone in his class stand up for a moment of silence. Some students laughed. Others attempted to hold it in.

“This sounds bad, but we were just trying to have a lighthearted moment,” Wolfe said. “Not making fun of Moto being gone. But let’s not take everything so seriously.”

After burying Moto, Pisani went up to his classroom and came back with a ball of yarn, found two sticks and weaved them together. He stuck his poorly configured cross in the ground.

So began the pet cemetery at Shawnee Mission Northwest. He was no longer freezing animals and then throwing them away, like he’d done for years. This, at least, seemed more humane. 

Since that day almost four years ago, various small hamsters and geckos have been buried outside the window of Wolfe’s room. Senior Gabe Gast made more crosses in Northwest’s woodshop class. Students text Pisani over breaks when their animals die, and, if he’s in town, they’ll bury them together. 

At this point, Pisani knows not to name any of the animals or get attached. 

“Don’t be painting me as unfeeling,” Pisani said. “When it’s a gerbil, no, I don’t get sad. I feed live mice to the snakes every week. It’s the circle of life.” 

Junior Zoe Georgakopoulos takes 5th hour environmental ed. The veiled chameleon that she was assigned to take care of in class died last October.

“Thought I was gonna have my Rapunzel era, like, with Pascal,” Georgakopolous said. 

“But he only stood on a rock in the corner of his cage all day. So I kind of just had the idea that it wasn’t gonna last long. Like, he’s not having fun in here.”

Georgakopoulos said that, after doing research, the chameleon was supposed to be a vibrant green, but due to stress he was more so ashy grey. He’d also stopped eating.

For weeks she had been putting out fresh water and crickets in what turned out to be an empty cage. Her Pascal had died.

Before then, she’d vaguely heard of the small cemetery, now overgrown with English ivy and parsley. 

“It’s a nice thought,” Georgakopolous said. “I kind of expected him to flush them down the toilet.”