Duck, Duck, Goose

It was a beautiful evening a few nights ago. We were getting ready to go on a walk at dusk. I had the two little boys in the stroller in the driveway with Brad and Aubryn. I ran into the house to get something and the phone rang. While I was on the phone a panicked Brad ran in. "A DUCK! A duck just got hit by a car!"

I ran out to see my kids traumatized and watching a struggling duck die in front of them.

"Do something!" Brad pleaded with me. He was very upset. "She didn't even stop! She just hit it and kept going!"

"Brad, there is nothing I can do." I said with my arm around him.

The duck was now dead. I was not about to touch it, let alone do mouth to mouth.

Brad couldn't stop saying how she had hit it and kept going. "She didn't even care!" He was crying.

Aubryn repeated everything Brad said. "And she didn't even care!"

Reagan said, "The car hit the duck. The duck died. That is sad, huh mom?" Over and over.

Rylan watched and listened.

Brian got a shovel and put the duck in the garbage can.

All my kids were very shaken up. They watched and heard the duck get hit, then struggle, and eventually die. There were tears and disbelief. It was sad.

We rounded the kids up and brought them inside to go to bed. The duck talk continued and Brian and I did our best to console and comfort the kids. "The duck died! The duck got hit by a car and died! Duck. Duck. Duck!!!"

Hearing the word "duck" at least 100 times, Rylan (20 months old), did what he usually does when he hears that word over and over. He ran to the family room looking back at the rest of us to join him. He sat down on the floor and said, "Duck, duck, goose! Duck, duck, goose!"