Brooklynn was standing by the front window looking out into our yard the other day, bouncing up and down on her toes, nose pressed to the glass. I was getting ready to tell her not to lean on the window so she didn't get it dirty when she turned, saw me, and almost yelled, "Dad, there's a robin in the grass, can I go chase him?" I had no sooner signified my approval when she was out the front door and into the grass. The robin flew away, Brooklynn patrolled the lawn for a moment, and she came back in to announce her triumph.
If this was a one-time occurrence, you might think it odd behavior. It's not. When we are on walks: "Dad, can we go get that Robin?"
"No Brooklynn, that's someone else's yard."
In a park: "Dad, can I chase that bird?"
"Sure." And off she zooms.
Me, seeing a particularly large robin near the back patio: "Brooklynn, do you want to chase that bird out there?"
She looks out, rolls her eyes at me, and sighs, "No Dad. That bird has a baby in her belly. You can't chase those ones." And she walks away as if the weight of constantly having to educate me on the ways of the world and bird chasing sits heavily on her shoulders.