That very first pony ride is one of those universally beloved rites of childhood.
Unless you're dealing with carnivorous ponies, it turns out.
Yesterday we took Z. to a petting zoo that offers pony rides. Z. went on a pony ride. Z. understandably reached the conclusion that pony rides are awesome. She wanted to go AGAIN. Immediately. We postponed putting her right back on another pony because we wanted her to hang out with the pigs, sheep, goats, chickens, cow and so forth, and take in the full petting zoo experience.
Besides, the pony rides cost extra.
Ah, but Z. was still drawn to the cute ponies, and kept gravitating in their general direction. She was petting the nose of one pony in particular when it suddenly grabbed her thumb and chomped down pretty hard. It didn't seem to want to let go, either.
After it was extracted from the mouth of the carnivorous equine, Z.'s thumb was now cut and bleeding. It was a surprising amount of blood for a pony-inflicted wound.
In approaching the staff about this, we were just looking for a sink and some soap where we could wash the cut. We know accidents happen, and animals bite sometimes. We didn't approach the proprietor in an angry manner, an accusing manner or a highly litigious manner in which we threatened to take them for everything, including their last bale of hay and their very last flea on their very last chicken. We weren't out for blood (unlike a certain pony). We just asked if there was someplace where we could wash the bite.
But the proprietor (after handing us a solitary wet wipe) says to us, in an incredulous manner, "What was her hand doing near the pony's mouth?"
She was so incredulous, I temporarily forgot about the sign out front that had lured us there in the first place. The big ol' honkin' sign emblazoned with the words, "PETTING ZOO." (Key word: petting. Petting. P-E-T-T-I-N-G). We explained that the pony had taken a nip, and we know these things happen. Now, I've seen the overzealous parents who want to behead anyone even indirectly responsible for a slight affront to their child. We weren't being those parents. We were being damn cool about the whole thing, I gotta say. Whereas the proprietor was still relatively indignant. We felt like we'd done something wrong.
We had another ticket for a pony ride, and frankly I wanted Z. to use it. Because of all the childhood phobias she could possibly suffer from, I wasn't about to have her traumatized by ponies. Clowns, sure. Broccoli or creepy ice-cream-van-driving men, understandable. But ponies? Uh-uh. No way. Besides, there's that whole cliche about getting back on the horse that throws (or attempts to eat) you. We were gonna nip this phobia in the bud.
With a little trepidation, she got back on another pony. And she had a pretty good time. Then the ride ended, and she got off the pony, and started crying some more about the other pony that tried to eat her. I wanted to get her cut properly cleaned and put some ointment on it, anyway. It seemed like a good time to leave.
On the drive home, I grew pretty indignant about how the proprietor was indignant about the incident. And I had one of those "Hey, wait a minute...." dawning realizations. Actually, several:
- When we paid for admission to the place, they were eager to sell us those styrofoam cups filled with food for the animals. And I guess we had this crazy notion that we ought to aim the food in the general direction of the animals' mouths. Sure, we're city folk. We don't deal with livestock on a daily basis. Maybe farm animals operate differently than the domestic cat-and-dog kind we're familiar with. Even so. Also, just a thought - if you don't want kids putting their hands near animals' mouths, maybe it's not such a good idea to sell food for the animals, and encourage the kids to, uh, feed them.
- Z. wasn't poking, or prodding, or chasing, or shrieking at the pony. We've raised her to be a good friend to animals.
- For a place that caters to kids, it's a little strange that they didn't have a first aid kit on hand - or at least some band-aids and antibacterial ointment. Or, you know.....a sink and some soap.
- Would it have killed the proprietor to show a wee bit of sympathy? Even if she felt we were in the wrong by letting Z. pet the pony at the (ahem) PETTING ZOO, it would have been nice for the lady to be....well....nicer. "Say, is that bleeding wound OK now? Poor thing," would have gone a long way toward mending fences.
The worst part is that Z. now seems slightly obsessed with the concept of man-eating ponies. She wanted to talk about them for the rest of the day yesterday - despite our attempts to make light of it. When I put her to bed last night, she claimed she wasn't tired, and I tried to teach her about counting sheep.
She wanted to know if the sheep were going to eat her.
So - I now have on my hands a child who is fine with werewolves and vampires, but who is scared of ponies.
Go figure.
Comments