Caleb and I fished a dead moth out of the garden pond yesterday. I laid him on the tiled ledge and Caleb examined all his parts commenting on his big eyes and furry legs. He blew on the moth's wings to make them flutter. The moth, of course, was beyond response. After a while, Caleb got still. He stared at the moth and then looked up at me and said with all the earnestness a three-year-old can muster, "Go get him some new batteries, Mama."
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