Bird Killer

I love little Miss' vocabulary. She has her own special language and now that I am more fluent in that language, our conversations are a lot more fun.
She is delightfully polite now that she can say "No gake you, Mommy." Too bad sometimes it's not an option, such as nap time.
Her little voice is precious.
She loves roosters lately (doodoo) and found one at Cracker Barrel a month ago. All the way home from dinner she talked about DooDoo.
Night, Night, DooDoo.
Awww, DooDoo!! (she says this in the sweetest voice about a lot of things. It's her way of saying, "poor little thing". So sweet).
She grows concerned at climactic moments in cartoons and holds her little hands up to her face and says, "(Inaudible) ah do?!" (What are we gonna do?)
"I yo!" (I don't know!)
Today we were driving along a back country road. Flocks of birds flew up before the car as we hummed along. One little bird wasn't fast enough and I felt it thump-thump-thumping under us.
With a glance in the rear view mirror, I saw feathers flying in chaotic frenzy and it was confirmed that I was, indeed, a bird killer.
I felt sick and said, "Oh, Lord, I didn't want to do that. Ugh. I feel terrible."
For many moments after the incident, Little Miss repeated over and over in her most sympathetic voice, "Ohhhhh, Mommy."
Precious girl. Given her obsession with roosters, I doubt she would be so compassionate if she knew her mother had just killed a cousin of the beloved DooDoo.