A few months ago, Grace spotted a smashed squirrel on the sidewalk on the way home from the library:
It doesn’t look like a squirrel.
I know, because it died.
I don’t know. Maybe a car hit it.
On the sidewalk? Cars not s’posed to be on the sidewalk.
Well, I just don’t know, honey.
At that point, she figured out she was getting no more info from me.
I thought she’d forgotten about it. (Should have known better; she never forgets anything). Today on the way home, as we got near the site of the squirrel spotting:
Hey, that squirrel is gone. Where’d the squirrel go?
The what? (If you’ve ever heard her say “squirrel,” you would understand my confusion)
The squirrel (pointing to the sidewalk) that was here from the car that came up on the sidewalk.
Oh, I guess it’s gone.
Maybe someone picked it up and buried it.
Hey, look! I saw a little one. A little tiny squirrel. (It wasn’t a squirrel, but was far enough past recognition that I can’t tell you what it had been.)
Yep, you sure did.