Sisters. Sigh.

The innocent bystander/cause-of-it-all.
Our youngest granddaughter, Baby Girl (hereinafter known as BG) is a tiny little thing.
Not walking yet, she scurries using the time-honored technique perfected by infants and babies since earth started.
Hands and knees.
At eleven months old, she can sure get around.
Her favourite toy/workout apparatus is a rocking moose.
One of many made by my Dad, BG’s great-granddad.
(Yes, I said moose. We live in Canada, it seems apropos.)
If BG isn’t busily exploring somewhere she shouldn’t, she can be found on that moose. Rocking wildly.
And she’s more than a little possessive.
Something only recently discovered.
Allow me to illustrate . . .
BG, the youngest of four siblings, was underfoot in the kitchen.
Her oldest sister, nine years her senior, saw an opportunity to take a ride on the currently unoccupied moose. (Hmm. There’s a statement you don’t see often!)
I should mention here that said older sister has waist-length hair.
This will be important later.
Moving on . . .
BG looked over and spotted her sibling on her moose.
She motored over and, latching onto the moose’s tail, levered herself to her feet.
Balancing there, she reached out and grabbed a hank of her sister’s hair.
Then she pulled.
“Ahh! Mom!” eldest sister squawked.
BG pulled again.
“Mom! She’s got me!”
BG tugged and tugged and finally, eldest sister disentangled herself and dismounted.
Her youngest sibling lost no time in climbing aboard.
Then she turned and grinned at her sister.
A knowing, ‘Nya-nya-nya-nya’ sort of grin, complete with wrinkled nose and sparkling eyes.
Did I mention that she’s eleven months old?!
I predict she’ll be CEO of a major company by the time she’s two.
Stay tuned . . .

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