My daughter came downstairs two mornings ago, insisting upon an immediate and in depth study of the minke whale.
I don't know how these things happen, and I don't know why they happen at 6:00 in the morning, but they do. Since our morning spent studying the minke whale when I was supposed to be writing a piece for my editor, she has come downstairs on each successive morning in search of information on the blue whale and the whale shark.
As I write this, I await her tiny footsteps, expecting her to demand information on the the narwhal or the right whale or the sperm whale. I'm typing fast, trying to finish this before she appears. She's ruthless and cares not for my needs.
Part of our study is to look at images of the whale online, and then we drill down to the images of the baby versions of these whales.
Clara's loves for babies of all kinds is indescribable.
During our study of the minke whale, we stumbled upon this picture of a baby minke whale being attacked by a killer whale.
I'm sure of this because I followed the link to the National Geographic video of the attack. The caption read:
Not wanting to shield her entirely from the reality of the natural world, I said, "This minke whale is being attacked by a killer whale."
"No it's not," she said. "Those whales are just playing. They're playing leap frog. No, they're playing leap whale. They're just having fun."
I can't help but wonder how long it will be before that degree of innocence is gone.
A long time, I hope.