“Look at this dad,” Brenna calls. She’s standing expressionless in a depression surrounded by brush. “Take my picture.”
A fork in the path reminds me of a little logic puzzle: Imagine you come to a fork in the road while trying to reach a destination. No sign points the way but standing there are two brothers, one known always to lie and the other known always to tell the truth. You don’t know which is which.
“You may ask just one of us a question,” they tell you. What one question can you ask that assures you’ll be pointed in the right direction?
“Look at that,” I notice. Brenna has gotten a bit grouchy so I’m glad to see the fuzzy caterpillar I know will improve her mood. Jessica helps pick it up.
“It tickles!” Brenna screeches as it walks around her palm.
“What are you going to name it?” I ask. “I like Pilly,” I suggest.
“I don’t think it will like our house,” we answer the usual question about bringing whatever creature home. Brenna agrees to find the caterpillar a nice home in the gulch.
Brenna is almost in tears when she finally has to leave the caterpillar behind. She finds it some nice grass nestled in brush safely away from footfalls.
“Where do you want to go for lunch?” I ask to get her mind on the next thing.