On Monday morning, before I’d finished my first cup of coffee, my three year old ran in with an armful of stuffed animals and informed me the family dog had given birth to three puppies, a bunny rabbit, and a monkey.

He doesn’t seem to grasp biology just yet, because later he said, “When I was a bird, I was so cute!”

He didn’t grow from a bird, but he is growing, and he wants to eat almost all the time to support that growth. His second breakfast that morning was about half a cup of Greek peach yogurt. He ate about half of it and then said he was full. Half an hour later, he was back in the kitchen.

“Mommy, can I have some candy? I’m really hungry.”

“You can have the rest of your yogurt,” I said.

“I was talking to Mom!” he scolded me, firmly.

“No, but you can eat the rest of your yogurt,” Mommy answered.

“No! I’m really full!”

Then, when Mommy went to take the dog who really gets around for a walk, both of the boys asked if they could go with her. She said she couldn’t handle two boys and a dog walking on a busy road.

“We could take the car!” he suggested with 110-mile-an-hour enthusiasm.

Whether he wanted all of us to pile in the car and go for a drive–which kind of defeats the purpose of talking a walk–or whether he intended to go for a spin alternating with his slightly older brother behind the wheel, I don’t think I want to know.

Speaking of walks, at night, his favorite book to read before bedtime is Biscuit Takes a Walk. Biscuit is a puppy. Biscuit has numerous lines in the book, which we let him say. But he doesn’t follow the script very closely. When Biscuit is supposed to say woof, instead, he occasionally makes Biscuit oink, quack, and meow. But mostly he makes Biscuit belch and fart, and, just in case we don’t know what a belch or a fart sounds like, he announces it loudly enough that the neighbors probably hear sometimes.

The neighbors might wonder about us, but I doubt it. Once upon a time, they all had three-year-old boys themselves.