Dave the Dad 27 - Duck!

Dave and Tom feeding the goat

It’s half-term, it’s raining, so it must be time for zoos and farms.

Tom’s mad about domestic animals in all ways: stroking, chasing, copying, riding (NB. Health and Safety: Burmese cats are just big enough for a toddler to straddle and play-ride, yet not quite bright enough to see the funny side). However his only previous contact with farm animals was in a sandwich so we figured that a bit of up close and personal would let him see that these mythical creatures who stalk his books, moo-ing and baa-ing and clipping and clopping, actually exist.

First stop Drusilla’s Marvellous Land of Monkeys and Things in East Sussex. This is so good we bought the company: well actually we didn’t but it momentarily seemed that way after we shelled out for a season ticket. It will be worth it in the long run as it really is a brilliant place for kids. And anyway, eating is overrated. This

place has everything you might be likely to see in book, film, Teletubbies or Big Brother but overridingly the highlight for Tom was the plastic, singing sculpture fixed in the centre of the park. This group of animatronic African/Indian animals independently sing a snatch of melody when their appropriate button is pressed. It took Tom ten seconds to associate the button with the flapping mouth and tinny tune but once this connection was made he whirled in circles around the island, eventually gaining speeds of Mach 4 and a decibel level that only those who live in New Orleans might understand. Apparently there were letters in the Telegraph the next morning from confused, elderly people in Droitwich who were convinced that a whirlwind from South of the Equator had torn around the county flinging baboons, snakes and parrots at their chimney-pots. Some complained that the sound of the anguished creatures would never leave their dreams.

When we were able to peel him away from this, Tom tore around the park thrilling at every corner. He especially loved the monkeys, scratching his underarms and mmm-mmm-mmm-ing for all his worth anytime he came close to one. Initially Jane and I attempted to inject an element of the educational, differentiating between the Saki Monkeys, the Lemurs and the Lar Gibbons although this collapsed rather when we became distracted by the tinkering of a Sulawesi Macaque as he was being de-nitted. In fact we were lucky because although he quite clearly had his tinker out, he didn’t succeed in sticking his tinker in whilst we were hurrying Tom past this red-hot monkey porn. You could tell that the fur was about to go flying though. Well, frankly, it was hard to miss. After that everything short, furry and sweet was a monkey and we thanked our lucky stars that we had not been privy to the primate rape that surely took place within minutes of our departure.

Spring Barn Farm nearer to home came next. The space here meant he was able to put his new running skills to the test and he surprised us both as soon as we left the car-park by sprinting uphill about fifty metres in order to bay loudly in the face of a surprised goat. The ponies took it in better stride and ambled over to lick our hands but even then you could see the flash of concern on the faces of some of the shorter Shetlands. At least William the cat had claws to prove his point. Then came the lamb feeding. Each child was given a bottle that could be torn from their grasp by these greedy, cute, woolly little bundles of kebab. Tom was mesmerized, rocked backwards and forwards by the momentum of the guzzling lambs, and he even became oddly diplomatic in attempting to share out his portion of the milk to other less fortunate creatures that would ram their heads through the fence and maaa into his chest.

By Friday -flushed by success with the lambs and the ponies and the monkeys and the penguins and the owls and the pigs- Tom was determined to put his new found skills into action with some ducks on a river bank in Pevensey. First, the crusts of a forgotten

sandwich. This worked a treat as the greedy ducks snatched and gobbled. Then Tom saw a peanut, picked it up and as Jane was muttering ‘Actually I’m not sure ducks eat nuts’ he held it out. As Tom extended his hand the duck’s neck shot out, almost in slow motion, and plucked the nut from between his fingers. It was all a little too close and personal and Tom let out a yelp that was the most grown up sound he has made to date. With his lip quivering Jane did her best with a big warm hug whilst I repeatedly flung my hand through the fence, letting the confused duck grapple with each of my fingers in order to show Tom that ducks were stupid, yes, but not malicious. It was borderline but he didn’t cry and at present the main drawback appears to be his confusion of strangers by pointing his index finger at them and saying ‘Duck!’. I’ve already fallen for this once a few days later by correcting him with ‘No, daddy,’ before I realized he wanted me to kiss his finger better.

All in all a success I think. Tom had fun, kept busy, met some animals, learnt a lesson. However I still picture the expression of that poor anguished macaque as she looked up triumphantly, nit in hand, to find a rather large reward staring her in the face. It will never leave my dreams.

June 7 2007

Dave Fouracre

Dave Fouracre aka "Dave the Dad" is a regular feature writer here at thebabywebsite.com.
Read more about his hilarious experiences as a Dad.