It truly is all relative

Daughter had a playdate with a friend of hers today; when I picked her up, she got in the car and asked me to turn down "Good People" from Jack Johnson's In Between Dreams. This meant she had something serious to say; Daughter loves that song.

So Friend lives in a house with a little backyard. In this backyard is a little hill with a little tree. Up in this little tree there lives a little bird nest, which Friend and Daughter have been observing for a little while. Today, when they went outside to slide down the little hill on pieces of cardboard, they found the little nest on the ground. The three eggs that were once safe inside were strewn about. One was cracked open, clearly dead, covered in blood and bird intestines. The second was also cracked, and the bird was dead, but the body was preserved well. The last egg was intact, and the girls put it back inside the little nest and placed the little nest back in the little tree. They are hopeful he will live a big life.

Friend and Daughter then set about giving the less fortunate little ones proper burials. They dug holes, decorated the graves with rocks, and created headstones.

Daughter: "We gave them names, and wrote down nice things about them."

Me: "That was very thoughtful. What did you name them?"

Daughter: "Lucky. That was the one I named."

Me: Perplexed. "What made you think of the name Lucky?"

Daughter: "He was lucky because his guts didn't fall out and he didn't get blood all over him."

Me: "That makes him lucky?"

Daughter: "Well, compared to the other one."