This past weekend, the Littlest Brewster found a caterpillar and proved, yet again, that she’s definitely her father’s daughter. (And mine too, since these were my favorite harbingers of spring when I was growing up. ((Although obviously she’s my daughter, as I birthed her. That’s one of those things that is sort of hard to miss.)))
This is what she found, since you can’t get a good view of it through her fat little fingers:
And, cruel as it may have been, we let her investigate the little guy for quite awhile. When we did finally pry it away from her, I’m not sure if it was in shock or had actually perished. (Taking into account the amount of time she spent investigating just how stretchy the caterpillar really was, I would guess the latter.)
The child has no fear of bugs or caterpillars or creepy crawlies. Given the absolute relish with which she grabs the rubber snakes in the garden, I can only hope that she never comes across a live one. Although if she did, my bet would be on her loving the poor thing to death.