As if dead birds aren't enough, a few days ago the boys found an old skeleton of some sort in our yard. It might have been a groundhog or a cat or maybe a rabbit. I don't really know. What I do know is that they dug up a bunch of pieces and proceeded to play with them. Pieces with tufts of hair still clinging to them. (shudder!) But they were so enthralled with them and it kept them occupied for a good bit of time. I should have taken them away but I knew I would have a battle on my hands. So instead, I just met them at the door with orders to wash their hands and then come back and use disinfectant.
Thankfully, someone mentioned that we could throw the bones into a bucket of bleach. It would kill all of the germs and then the boys could play without me feeling like an awful mom for screeching at them to get that piece of germ-covered vertebra out of the house. So I put the bones into a bucket of bleach and they've been soaking for the past two days.
Yesterday, the boys got ahold of the bucket. And of course, even though there had been warnings, Tru stuck both hands into the bucket to show the bones to his Opa. I wouldn't have even known except for the pink splotches on the back of his shorts. 
Honestly, when I had Jem I never dreamed I would be bleaching animal bones so that my kids could play with them. I had visions of burying plastic dinosaur bones in a sandbox and helping him dig them out. But real bones from some animal that died in our backyard? No way. And yet here I am, bleaching bones and encouraging my kids to take as much time as they need to try to fit the poor dinosaur back together.