A trip to the Des Moines zoo isn't a trip, really. It's more like an hour or less of your time on a few acres that house the animals Green Peace forgot. It's tragic, really, the one snow leopard who I'm almost 100% sure is really stuffed and they had a taxidermist hang a real tail from the top of the highest tree. Like a "Where's Waldo" of large cats game, or something. You can hear a canned roar from the one lion and trust me, she is tamer than our house cat.
The pride and joy of the Des Moines Blank Park Zoo is a tiny playground in a tiny barn-like area with a dozen goats, handful of llamas, and a token donkey. I'm pretty sure they aren't fed anything but the little brown spheres you pay $1 for 10 for all over the area. And, who can ever satisfy their child with one serving of food to feed the animals? If you can, give me your advice, because I am always working my way up to a Benjamin by the time we leave there.
Today I was smarter. I brought a plastic container filled with our dog food. It is the exact same size, shape, and color (tiny, dark brown spheres) and when I read up on the food goats eat, it was the same ingredients as our cheap-ass dog food. Win win, really.
Xander was content eating his toes in the stroller while Zo rushed from goat to kid to kid to goat, all in the name of filling their bellies. I took the prerequisite pics and then settled on an open bench to close my eyes and feel some sun on my face. Seriously, I was not neglecting my child. When is the last time you heard on the news, "This just in! Plastic surgeons reattached a little girl's hand she lost while feeding docile, if not drugged, goats at the petting zoo"?
Lost in my own day dream about Vinnie from Entourage sweeping me off this log-bench in the middle of a stinky barnyard, I felt little eyes burning into my skin. Opening my eyes I had two huge-longest-lashes-you've-seen-on-a-two-year-old eyes lit up in excitement.
"MOM! Coolest thing ever! EVER!" pierced my ears as we skipped over the corral.
"Did a baby goat drink it's mommy's milk?" I asked, hoping she understood what a beautiful moment that was to experience.
An are you on drugs look came over her face as she pointed out a goat "doing his business".
"Watch, mom!" she said as she grabbed the last of the goat/dog food from her container and fed it to the flatulent goat.
"Hmmm! He likes the food! Nice!" I said half-heartedly, searching for Purell.
"No, mom. He likes it so much that as he eats, he pops it out there," (pointing to the still-coming poop shower from his nether regions) and then, "you can pick it back up like this and he eats it again!"
Where is that Purell?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment