"What kind of package is he in?"

Right after Christmas Kelly called in a panic - the girls were in tears, I didn't know what was going on. When Bob and I got there we got the news. Their finch (Elizabeth Swan) had died. She was a present from Santa. So Bob put the bird in a shoe box and we brought it back home to bury. (Kelly lives in an apartment and didn't have a yard to use as a pet cemetary). The pain of the loss eased up until last week.
Last week our neighbors little dog died. Rease and Helena were quite fond of him. His name was Boomer - a cute name for such a little dog. Anyway - they talked about it a bit here and there. Today Helena told me she thought Boomer was too little to die. I said I know, and dropped it. She then casually asked me "what kind of package is he in?" I had to think for a moment - I asked her if she meant a shoebox like "Elizabeth Swan" was buried in and she said yes. She said "perhaps its brown like Boomer". I said "perhaps".
I've thought about this packaging thing. . . . . kinda like the ring of it