I love talking with Child Harbat to find out what animal she is. You see, it changes by the minute. Just when I ask her if “little kitty can come get her shoes on” she responds in a stern voice, “No! I’m an otter baby!” Then when it’s time for otter baby to get in the car, she’s moved on to being a mommy ant. In our household animals are as much a part of life and discussion as gods and spirits were to primitive civilizations. They painted on caves and carried out elaborate rituals, we put Panda in time out because he said naughty words.
If I knew more about child psychology I’d better understand why, at three-and-half, CH wants to be any animal other than a human, anything other than herself. Maybe she is already tired of being a little girl, or maybe likes the expanded toenail-painting options when you are a centipede. Regardless, I’ve learned a lot about zoology from my daughter. Now please note that if I don’t respond to emails right away it’s because I have trouble typing with my hooves. I SAID I’M A HORSE!