We discourage the Kid from using the word "stupid". It's not so much that I think it's a "bad word" (I don't know if I believe in those, even), it's that it's often used imprecisely. It's lazy to say "stupid" when you mean "annoying" or "inconvenient" or "illogical" or any of the other words we commonly use "stupid" as a substitute for.
Of course, this has led to him policing our lazy use of the word, which is as good a place as any to begin our story of woe.
It was after dark. Sweet Husband had gone to bed with Little Miss, and I had stayed up to get some writing done. I had finished, and was planning to wash the dishes, take out the compost, and lock up the ladies before I hit the pillow myself.
And then, I heard it. The most gawd awful squawk from the chicken coop.
I froze. It was the raccoon, I knew it, but all I could think was, "I don't have a baseball bat! How am I going to fight off the raccoon without a baseball bat?!?!"
In retrospect, I am quite ashamed of my cowardice--the raccoon would have probably just run away, right?--but in my panic I couldn't think of a weapon and I couldn't go face the critter unarmed.
Instead, I ran upstairs.
"Blaine, Blaine!" I shook Sweet Husband, "Wake up right now, there's something in the chicken coop!"
He manfully bolted up, whipped on some shoes, and rushed out to fight the enemy.
The enemy, of course, fled at the first sound of opposition, taking one of my pullets with him. In the time I spent ninnying, the raccoon had already killed a second pullet, leaving only two of this year's babies alive.
Of course, the stupid raccoon took the two that I was sure were hens, and left the two that I think are roosters. Because he's a jerk-face of a woodland creature.
I broke the news to the Kid the next day.
"The stupid raccoon got two more chickens last night."
"Don't say 'stupid', mama."
A litany of other names I could call this particular raccoon quickly came to mind, but none seemed appropriate for my four-year-old's tender ears.
"Fine, he's a poophead."
"Yeah, that raccoon is a POOPHEAD," the Kid repeated with grim satisfaction at the excuse to say the word. "He's a poopy-poophead!"
And he's a poopy-poophead who needs to find a different coop to mess with, before I start letting Moe sleep outside at night or researching the legalities of traps.