As A knobbly-kneed, roller-skating, 8-year-old, big storms and rainy days meant going out on worm life-saving patrol.
A gaggle of girl scout lumbricidae life savers, we were hell-bent on doing good. Not that any worms ever thanked us for bringing them in from the cold and wet (their favourite place) into a 70s sitting room, especially when our brothers found them and used them for their insatiable appetite for eeling expeditions.
It just felt so good to be saving stuff and generally healing the world, well, for us. Not so much the worms.
So I understood when I got the excited call from my girl that she was "saving" an endangered baby dotterel that had been found "abandoned" on the beach and they were on a mission to the bird rescue centre.
I blame Dora the Explorer. I managed a strangled, "For goodness sake take it back now", before the phone cut out.