have you seen this chicken?
Monday, March 26, 2007
It'd been a while since we'd had a family day out, so on Sunday, making the most of the lingering stunning weather and the fact that Mummy is still capable of covering reasonable distances, on the flat, and with a favourable wind, without puffing like a steam train, we wrangled Becca into the station wagon and set off for Staglands. Hadn't been since last summer, and little has changed at the park itself (although Moses the brown donkey whose enclosure, last year, bore the rather Dotheboys Hall-style placard 'This donkey bites', has been moved to a more secure location next to the Clydesdale; maybe it was a three strikes thing). However Becca's reception of it has altered in the space of a year from wide-eyed bogglement to knowledgeable running commentary as she ran around distributing food pellets to the grateful inmates. With, as they say, hilarious consequences, for what we thought would be one of the highlights of her visit, a turn around a field astride a wee Shetland pony, was soon eclipsed by a deer expertly muzzling an empty paper feed bag out of J's hand and then consuming it with obvious relish; this, evidently, is the funniest thing she has ever seen. In the whole world, ever (The deer ATE the bag!! That's SILLY, isn't it?!?! [raucous laughter]) and I have a feeling she'll be dining out on the story for years to come. That, and on her encounter with an avid peacock that gave her a slight peck while she was feeding it her sandwich. Cue floods of tears, and Mummy being enjoined to go and remonstrate with the unrepentant bird, which appeared unmoved by my pointing out to it that biting wasn't nice and that it had been a very naughty peacock. (Fortunately, you lose all sense of public shame fairly early into parenthood). After this incident, Becca did the rounds of all the other (identical) peacocks, remonstrating with each one individually for pecking her and recounting her fate to anyone who would listen. Then, in the deer area, she was mugged for her feed bag by a billy goat whose rapacity sent her literally spinning into Mummy's arms; cue fresh floods of tears and requirements for Mummy and Daddy to deliver further public rebukes to the impassive goat.
The map of the park, which we brought home for her, has photos of some of the animals, and since then Becca has been pointing at them urgently and exclaiming 'THAT'S the peacock that BIT me! And THAT'S the greedy billy goat!' She took it to crèche with her this morning, as evidence, apparently, as she was last seen brandishing it as though it were a set of police mug shots and regaling anyone within earshot with the tale of her brush with the Peacock of Death.
Still, on the whole, I think we got our money's worth.
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