A few weeks ago B and I went to Queensland as a surprise for his mother’s 60th. Technically, I was the bigger surprise, as his parents hadn’t met me yet, so I was all, ‘Surprise! … I’m Julia!’
The family home reminded me a lot of my paternal grandparents’ house in Tamworth, where I spent a lot of time as a kid, so I had some feels even before I was introduced to the donkey. That’s right: donkey.
I have a thing for donkeys, I think they are amongst the funniest of animals because their heads are GIANT.
It is safe to say that the donkey was not my biggest fan to begin with. B’s dad set us straight, as he trundled past on his brand new tractor: the donkey’s love could be bought and the currency was carrots.
Luckily, carrots could be bought in 5kg increments, because we fed the animals so many carrots that they can all now see in the dark.
Look how much the donkey grew to love us!
If you think donkeys love carrots, you’ve never met a goat. Goats LOVE carrots. I was fairly indifferent to goats before my visit, and although I grew fond of them, my first reaction was hysterical laughter when they attacked B, and then hysterical terror when they attacked me.
By “attack” I mean they are very agile carrot lovers, who will climb you if need be to get at a carrot. Unless they are the psychotic little dappled one, in which case it probably is trying to kill you. And me. And all the other goats.
Goat faces are ridiculous. Look at these funny jerks!
It was sad to say goodbye, part of me would have been very happy to see out my days in the little tin goat shed, bathing in the bathtub trough.
Alas, Sydney called.
The last time I saw B was just after this photo was taken and the fence collapsed and he was swarmed by goats.