We were helping to clean Grandma’s pool and found a dead chipmunk floating in the skimmer. (Gross. The absolute worst.) Ruthie, my three-year-old, was captivated and horrified at the same time.

Ruthie: OH, no! He doesn’t look like he feels good.

Me: No, he’s dead. I’ll scoop him out and throw him in the woods.

Ruthie: Why? So he can feel better?

Me: No, honey. He’s not going to feel better. He died.

Ruthie: Why?

Me: He drowned.

Ruthie: Oh. How?

Me: He probably fell in and couldn’t get out. Remember how we talked about how important it is to never, ever come over to the pool by yourself? Because you could fall in and not be able to get out?

Ruthie: Oh, yeah. Then would I be like that chipmunk?

Me: Yeah.

Ruthie: And you’d have to throw me in the woods?

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