"Mom! Mom! Mom! Guess what?"
"I don't know. What?"
"We found a bird and I think it's a baby chicken. Can we keep it? Please? Please? Please?"
This is where you get to see how cool I am because I said....
"Why, of course you can keep it! What kind of mother would I be if I didn't let you keep every creature that crosses your path?"
I called a friend who brought over food and a heat lamp left over from their days of quail/chicken rearing. Then I put my kids in bed, put a movie on for me and Scott and then went to bed.
Time: middle of the night.
"Katie? What's wrong?"
"The birdie died."
Which is how I spent the rest of the night with my daughter asleep next to me. Very sad. This is the conclusion for the kids, but not the parents. I love how in movies, the parents always oblige their children with the burial of the pet they loved and adored. Is this what I'm supposed to do? Am I supposed to draw out the process with a lengthy funeral filled with tears and sorrow? Over a wild baby quail that should've been left alone in the first place? I just don't know.