You know those moments when your child independently does the right thing? We had one of those today.

We’d been out for the day, and on a whim, stopped at a pub with play area on the way home. Boyfriend and I were sitting in the garden, and my daughter was playing in the play area. There were other kids around, and there were a few from one family, who were passing a little dog between them while the others played on the play structure.

I’ve told my daughter never to approach a dog she doesn’t know, and to always ask the dog’s owner before she greets the dog. We’ve done this many times: she’s shown interest in a dog, whilst holding my hand, so we’ve approached the owner together and she’s gradually worked up the confidence to ask to say hello to the dog. This stemmed from an incident in a market one day, when a dog turned to face my daughter at her face height, and she kissed it on the nose! Fortunately, the dog didn’t mind, but it could very well have turned out differently, so I started drumming a bit of dog safety into her then.

We recently went to a preschooler day at a local safety centre, and one of the scenarios there was a dog in a park. My daughter knew exactly what she ought to do, and together we approached the “owner” and she asked if she could stroke her dog. It was only once she started stroking it that she turned to me and said “Oh, it’s a pretend dog, mummy.” And I kicked myself a little for not doing a better job of explaining the fact that the situations were all pretend; worried that I’d now managed to diminish the importance of the safe behaviour I’d been trying so hard to instil in her.

So back to the pub and the pup. Said pup is now under the control of two boys (probably about 6 & 7), but I’ve had half an eye on it: it’s on a lead and a harness, it’s not really bothered about being handled as it’s been passed between children with no fuss, and it seems generally pretty relaxed and happy. My daughter is playing with some of the other children in the park, and she runs past the boys with the dog. The dog catches her attention. My attention is piqued when I hear her voice: “Please can I stroke your doggie?”. I look over. She’s standing a little distance from the boys. They haven’t heard her. She asks again: “Please can I stroke your doggie?”. And then a third time, louder this time: “Please can I stroke your doggie?”.

One of the boys realises he’s being spoken to, and nods and says yes. The other boy bends down with her, and they stroke the dog together. My daughter loses interest pretty much immediately, and goes back to the game she was playing.

I was bursting with pride. I could have cried right there and then on that bench. She didn’t do it because I was watching (because I didn’t actually look over until I heard her ask the first time). She asked because she knows it’s the right thing to do to keep herself safe. She made absolutely the right call, and she did it all on her own. And it took courage. It took courage to approach two boys, both older than her, and both strangers. (This coming from the same child, who a few minutes earlier had wanted to stop playing for a while as there were “only boys left” in the park) It took courage for her to repeat herself when they didn’t hear her… twice. And it took courage for her to do this on her own, not to come and ask me to go with her.

And the boys were great. Particularly the one who knelt with my daughter, and in doing so, helped to ensure both her and the dog were ok with one another.

It was a fleeting moment. But one which resonated. And which I, as a parent, found hugely reassuring. How wonderful it is to know that my daughter not only knows the right thing to do, but when faced with the situation alone, will actually do the right thing.

I’m not about to read too much into it, and stop holding her hand, stop reminding her how to cross the road safely, and start just letting her take herself to the park while I sit at home with a cuppa. But I’ll sleep tonight a little more soundly, knowing that at least some of what I’m hoping she’s learning is going in. And I’ll sleep more soundly knowing that when presented with a scenario, on this occasion she chose to keep herself safe, and she did so independently of me and with no priming or reminders.

The trade off will be that I’ll now start losing sleep over just how independent she’s becoming, and the fact that I’ll soon be pretty much redundant to her, useful only for taking her places, making her meals, and washing her clothes. Such is the lot of a parent I guess.