“Jack, look! A lizard! What should we name him?”
His answer was so brilliant, I was stunned for a second. At the time, he wasn’t even 3.
“That,” I finally said, “is a great name.”
Every time we sat outside for our dinner, T-Rex came out in search of his. We would wait with bated breath as he’d slowly move toward an insect that was at least as long as one of his legs. He’d stay perfectly still for a moment, and then he’d pounce.
Whenever he was successful (which was nearly always) we’d erupt into applause. Dinner and a show.
“Good job, T-Rex!” Jack shouted.
Yes. And good job, Jack.