The Reality Show of a 3-Year-Old’s Life

I step out the front door to where the boys are playing. I survey the area and spot a strange collection of items on the sidewalk. Arranged in a nice little vignette are a spaceship water bottle, a cocked Nerf gun, and an unpeeled half-eaten banana. The water bottle suggests this is the work of the 3-year-old. The Nerf gun doesn’t indicate any child in particular. The unpeeled half-eaten banana lying on the sidewalk confirms this was definitely the 3-year-old. 

But why? What is the reason this cache of items is here? Looks like I’m about to find out as the 3-year-old is walking my way. He’s grinning widely and also carrying a red step stool. The plot thickens. 

I ask him what he’s doing. He calmly responds he’s hunting a squirrel. Then fiercely, while pointing up into the pecan tree, “I’m going to GET him!” He then places the step stool behind the bed of my truck and walks back over to pick up his Nerf gun. Then mounts the stool, steps on the bumper, and climbs into the bed of the truck.

I have completely forgotten about the half-eaten unpeeled banana lying on the pavement at this point. I guess that makes two of us. 

The 3-year-old takes aim into the pecan tree and lets a foam dart fly. I hadn’t seen a squirrel but do hear one crunching pecans and dropping the shells on my truck. This is a double insult. First the tree rat has the nerve to eat the good pecans before they fall. Secondly, he uses my truck as a refuse depository for his snacks. 

I 100% support the 3-year-old’s hunting expedition at this point. It’s unlikely to be successful however. One salient issue is that the 3-year-old can’t aim. An elephant would be safe at a few paces so the squirrel 25 feet up in the tree has good reason to be scornful (which, from his scoffing chatter, I can tell he is). 

The chattering appears to egg the 3-year-old on. He takes “aim” and fires off a couple more shots. Maybe the dart came close, maybe the squirrel was done with his snack, maybe he was late for a Zoom meeting, but for whatever reason the squirrel starts to make his way out of the pecan tree. 

Just like greyhounds after an electronic rabbit on the edge of a racetrack, the boys are hounding the arboreal rodent across the yard as he makes his way through the tree. Oh right, the 3-year-old is no longer alone. Some primitive squirrel hunting instinct has been roused and there are now three boys in pursuit. I don’t know where the other two came from. I’m not even sure they know what they’re in pursuit of. But they are.

The chase leads into the backyard and appears to be reaching a climax. With Nerf guns pointed in the air the posse appears to have their quarry cornered in a tree. On the count of “three” the Nerf guns explode. The pecan pilfering tree rat drops to the ground, not unlike the shells he formerly threw on my truck. 

But not really. On the count of three the Neef guns make a mild “pfff” noise that is indistinguishable amidst the manic cries of the hunt. The undisturbed squirrel squats on a branch, begins munching another pecan, and occasionally scoffs at his pursuers in that particularly mocking tone squirrels have. 

The boys lose interest and go their own way. As my gaze falls back over the 3-year-old’s collection of items, the squirrel’s chattering suddenly takes on a new tone. It’s not mocking, it's scolding. And it’s saying something like, “hey, kid, don’t leave your half-eaten banana on the ground.”