Yesterday I morning I got up and went to run a few errands. When I came home the younger boys had, for some reason unbeknownst to me, trapped our black pug named Reggie in the kitchen. That's not a big deal. It just meant that they were possibly out riding bikes or down the street at the neighbors and wanted him contained instead of roaming freely about the house. As I removed the weight from the swinging butler's door and made my way, Reggie at my heels, into the family room, I heard them both yell in whispering voices from the front room, "Mom...get Reggie out of here!" I quickly turned and headed back toward the kitchen, resetting the large weight and trapping poor Reggie back in his prison.
I walked quietly into the front room to find them each laid out on a different sofa with their boxers on and blanket throws wrapped haphazardly around their bodies. They whispered intently, "There's a little bird in the Christmas tree and we've got him to come out to way up here. We've ALMOST touched him!" There was a little line of birdseed and bread crumbs on the floor where they'd been quietly luring him out from his warm perch in our 4000 light tree. It was so sweet to see them working so intently and purposefully on something that meant such a great deal to them. And particularly so in that it was something other than a video game or an internet search for the latest cheats for said video game.
Eventually they managed to lure the little fellow back outside and he went on his merry bird way. I'm thankful for the memory I have of them playing with him and the one I'm sure they'll carry into their adulthood and reminisce about.