Other times she talks to him in a high, squeaky voice or gives him hugs. Her hugs involve her bending down to clasp her arms around his furry neck and letting half her body weight sag luxuriantly onto his back. It hasn't happened yet, but in such a position, it's only natural that her leg would eventually come up and swing across his back. From there it's only a hidey-ho and giddyap to full saddle position.
Poor Wilbur.
Clara's fascination extends to Wilbur's food and water dish. She daily drowns her Scooby-Doo doll and Raggedy Andy in the water dish. One of her favorite things to do is drop his dog cheerios, one by one, into the water. She likes to watch them expand.
We caught her doing this a few days ago and I said, "Clara, we talked about this. The next time I catch you doing that, you will sit in time-out."
"Oh!" she said, and trotted to the time-out corner.
"Honey, you don't have to sit in time-out now. Only the next time you do it."
The next day she did it again.
"Clara, that is not okay. Wilbur can't drink his water when you clog it with dog cheerios. It's time to sit in time-out."
"Oh, this," she said, flashing a grin full of baby teeth and bright blue eyes. She cheerfully sat down in time-out corner with her little-girl legs stretched out in front of her and her little-girl hands clasped on her lap.
I sat down across from her and said, "Do you know why we're sitting in time-out?"
"Doggie," she said, pointing at Wilbur. Then she stood up and held out her hands for a hug. I put her back in the corner firmly.
"It's not time for hugs. We are doing time-out."
She tried to escape to the side, giggling. She tried to distract me by talking to me about the lamp. ("ayit" for "light"). I put her back in the corner a dozen times. Her mouth started to tremble and her chin sunk to her chest. Her eyes filled up with tears.
I said, "Ten more seconds, alright?" and I counted loudly to ten and then picked her up and held her close.
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