Addison and I went to the park today to feed the ducks. It's cute and fun, but as we're sitting there trying to bean the poor things with cheerios, I can't help thinking that it would be pretty dang easy to off one of these things and bring it home for dinner. Not that we'd know what to do with it. We can barely figure out how to cook spaghetti, much less something that has feathers all over it.
Don't get me wrong, I've never killed anything larger than a small frog before. And that was an accident for which I felt remorse for months afterwards. He hopped right under my foot as I was running. I'm not even joking. It wasn't my fault.
Nevertheless, the ducks were so close, practically eating out of our hands, and their bodies are so cute and plump . . . and really, if I'm trying to teach my daughter something about self-sufficiency and how to survive the zombie apocalypse, she's gonna have to learn how to break a little animal's neck sooner or later. Right? Much more efficient to teach her to do that than to plant, and nurture, and then harvest her own soybean crop. The girl's gonna need to get her protein from somewhere.
In other news, for every fun excursion we take during the week, I can think of about fifty ways for it to end scarring my child tragically. What to say? I have a wandering mind.