I have it on good authority that quite a few people like being outdoors. Some even sleep in it for sport..or maybe it's for melting marshmallows...or trying to attract bears so they'll find the campsite and sentence everyone to untimely bear-realted-face-ripped-off type death. If I don't camp, I'll never see the headline:
Kellerman woman runs into Winnie The Pooh. Won't be returning from hundred acre wood.
And although I'm not one of those outdoor people, I've made the decision to make sure my children establish some sort of connection with Nature. So I took us to a place where Nature's kept in little pens, for fun...
"Hold on, kiddos. Let Mommy get the stroller out." While I tugged on the folded contraption sitting in the trunk, I prepped the babies for our mission. "What does a cow say?"
Sundance smiled. "Moooo."
"That's very good. Now, what does a horse say?" Before she could answer, a tiny voice in the parking lot piped up behind me.
"Neigh neigh neigh neigh."
Looking over my shoulder, I observed a small boy dancing on one foot and pointing at me. Embarrassed, his father, Old MacDonald, picked him up, explained that, despite my teeth and lustrous main, I wasn't a horse, and dragged him, "neighing" all the way inside the building.
Stroller loaded, we ventured through the doors and into the petting zoo. For the next thirty minutes we stared at the giant cow, looked at the pond, watched the pigs, and even ventured down the paved "nature trail", or, as I like to call it, "Wandering In The Desert for Forty Years."After trying to mug an elderly man for his canteen and being informed that the general store was twenty feet away, we set out in search of snacks.
That's when we got stopped by the goats, the school yard bullies of the petting zoo. Horrifying creatures, goats. If you've never seen one in person, try imagining what it'd be like to run into a sleep-walking Nicholas Cage. But the babies were curious. So I reluctantly slowed down. Fortunately, there was a little boy in front of us, holding out a leaf.
Butch held out his hand, and I rolled the stroller back. "No, Honey. Let's see if this little boy loses his hand, first, and then we'll say hi to the goat." I nodded at the boy's father. "We're just waiting to see what happens. Goat Justice and all that. We tolerate gore fairly well." The goat stuck out its giant head and grabbed the leaf from the boy. When he and his father walked off, I stuck my finger in the goat's face.
"Listen, Goat. I'm going to let my kids feed you. But if you so much as blink wrong, you don't want to see what happens. I don't know what goats are afraid of, but I'll Google it and then you'll be sorry." I supplied the babies with leaves and watched the goat snap them up. When he got too close to their fingers, I rolled away.
"Whoa whoa whoa. Don't think I didn't see that. I'm coming for you goat. If I were you, I'd sleep under that hay, with one eye open."
We made it out alive and ate ice cream to celebrate our bravery at the Battle of Goat Run.
How do you feel about goats?
Until Next Time, Readers!