The following is part of a Monty-Python-esque conversation my 6-year-old son D- and 3-year-old daughter M- had today with their noses pressed against the patio doors, watching the frolicking of the new litter born to our thirteen-lined ground squirrel friends "Nibble Purple" and "Sunflower Stripehead".*
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of asking my wife aloud if a little thing near them in the grass was a dead sibling. The flies shortly confirmed this suspicion, and the kids then became intensely focused on this one instead of all the unbearably cute and very alive ones.
M- (trying desperately to find it): Is that the dead one?
D- (patiently): No, it's the one that's not moving.
M-: Is that one it? ...No, it's moving. ...Is that one it? No, it's moving, too.
D- (authoritatively): All the ones that are moving are dead.
M- (buying it, but just trying to make sure she has it straight): All the ones that are moving are dead?
D- (as if she misheard him): No, all the ones that are moving are NOT dead-- they're alive. All the ones that are NOT moving are dead.
* Guess who named them.