The Boy and The Girl went out to ride their dirt bikes the other day in the gravel pit located behind and up the hill from our house. Shortly after they left, I heard the sound of ONE motorcycle returning, and then The Boy burst in the door.
"MOM! MOM! PLEASE! I NEED YOUR CAMERA!" he shouted.
"Uh, Bud, where's your sister?"
"MOM! Seriously, please! I need it right away! I'll only have it for a minute!"
"Bud, your sister...."
Yes, it all came out that fast. "Boy! Where. Is. Your. Sister."
"She's still riding around in the gravel pit, keeping an eye on the fox! And, MOM! I got really really really close to it, close enough to touch, and it didn't run away!!"
Fantastic. Just what a protective mother wants to hear. I haven't been so "countryfied" that the thought of wild animals near my children does not send my heart into freaked-out spasms. Despite the heart palpitations , I took a deep breath and handed the camera to my dear son, with strict instructions to NOT WRECK while in possession of mommy's beloved camera. With a quick "I promise" and a blur of not-so-little feet, he was off, motor racing to get back to the fox before it no longer felt like being an object of intense scrutiny from "little" people.
Several tense minutes later, the sound of two motorcycles made it's way to my ears, and I breathed a sigh of relief. They could not drive their motorcycles down the hill very well if they were maimed. Right? The Boy came rushing in to show me the pictures, and as he looked at them with me, he commented, "well, that stinks! I was a whole lot closer to him than the picture shows!"
Thanks, Bud, I appreciate that piece of information. Have you ever heard of "TMI"? Trust me, this qualifies.