Don't Touch That Cow!

When you have kids, you do things you really don't want to do. That's part of being a parent, right?

Hey, let's go down to the petting zoo so I can worry for the rest of the afternoon that we've contracted E-coli from the feces hanging from that sheep's face.

Hey, let's go down to the park so I can sweat my ass off on a bench while the kids eat mulch and fall from heights.

Hey, let's go to the carnival so I can stand around and watch dirty carnies slather mustard on corn dogs while the kids pick up a scorching case of B.O. on rickety rides.

But, we do it, don't we? We smile and take pictures and act like we are having the grandest damn time in the world. Confession: I would rather watch my kids play safely in our own back yard and sit in the clean comfort of my back porch.

But, we go and pay ungodly amounts of money for face painting and cotton candy and cheap inflatable toys just so we can witness those little smiles on their faces.Yes, we do anything for our kids.

And I do mean anything. I sat through two hours of that Russell Brand movie, "Hop" last Easter. Oh. My. God. I would rather be probed by angry herpes-infected aliens than ever lay eyes on that heap of putrid "cinema" again.

The Safari Park is a farm not far from our home, where exotic animals roam. Yes, in a field in the rural southern United States, there are buffaloes, giraffes, gazelles and jungle species running freely while families drive through the park to admire and feed these beasts "critter chow" from their car...their nice, clean, uncontaminated car.

My daughter went with her preschool several years ago, but I've never had the desire to feed shit eating animals from my nice, clean, uncontaminated car. However, a few weekends ago, the kids were begging, and it was a beautiful day, so we packed up the brood and headed to the park. 

As soon as we pulled in, my eyes feasted upon this. I knew I was in for a treat. I don't like camels. I don't like mini vans. I call this "Feeding the Caravan from the Caravan."

Moving on.

We saw a couple of jackasses, buffaloes, and emus were everywhere. I don't do emus, either. Every time I turn it on "When Animals Attack", those crazy bastards are the star of the show.

I was dodging a Zebra and some kind of rabid defecating mule crossing the road when a beautiful peacock caught my eye. I slammed on the brakes and shouted, "Oh, baby! Grab the camera and get a shot of that beautiful pea-WHAT THE *#@*!"

Leave it to some dirty pigs to ruin a beautiful photo.

This one is simply titled, "Pigcock."

Further on up the road were a pack of cows. Wait, I should have written "herd". Cows don't come in packs. Cigarettes, gum, and wolves come in packs. I kind of like the term "pack of cows." It's official. I am changing the word from herd to pack. This rule applies to everyone in the universe. Please make note of this.

So, a pack of cows approached the car. One cow reached his head so far in the passenger seat that he was slobbering on my gear shift (I hate when that happens). My husband started spazzing and was yelling for me to "just drive." Sure, I'm going to slam on the gas with half of a cow stuck in my car. Yeah, right. The meat would be so torn up that I couldn't even make Manwhich with that shit.

I was laughing hysterically at my husband flipping out about the cow overtaking him in the passenger seat, and I didn't have the strength to take a photo of the attack. I was more focused on not peeing on myself. I did a get a photo of the cow before he lunged inside the car with us, though.

This one is called, "Leader of the Herd Pack".

My husband and I were riding along and joked about redneck hunters riding through the park and shooting animals from their sunroof. I could only imagine the horror on the little old lady's face at the front gate when a pick up truck of rednecks pulled out with a dead caribou and asked if she knew were the nearest tagging station was. Okay, maybe that's not funny, but it kind of is. That should be in a movie.

A llama rushed my SUV, I slammed on the brakes again, and I noticed a pile of bones on the ground. I leaned out of the car and took a photo. I thought the Smarties wrapper nestled amongst some mighty animal's remains made it all so "bittersweet."

Just when I thought we were past the bovine part of the tour, a Texas Longhorn appeared entirely too close for comfort. I frantically rolled up my window. He was sniffing or preparing to charge, and his horns kept snagging my tire. Would I be the first person to call the local Goodyear and say, "Hey, guys. A Texas Longhorn punctured my tire today. Can you help a sister out?"

On a side note, damn my window was dirty.

Once the driving portion of the trip was through, we stopped off at the petting zoo. This is not a good place for a germophobe, but I bit my tongue and tried to figure out how much bleach and antibacterial soap I should add to the Mr. Bubble bath that night.

I don't want a giraffe's tongue on anything I own. Especially my children. 

I shouted strict orders, in German, for my entire family to get their asses to the nearest hand washing station and stay put until I was satisfied that the billions of germs, mites, parvo, distemper, mange and whatever else they had come in contact with had been scalded in hot water and wasn't hitching a ride back home with us. I know, I sound like loads of fun, don't I? Is it a wonder that my husband wants to put duct tape over my mouth (in a non-sexual way), my 5 year old rolls her eyes at me, and my 2 year old has a funny little habit of covering his ears when I am speaking? Well, I can't help it. I love them and want to protect them. Becoming a dictator is the only way I know how to do that!

If my children end up hiding from me in the attic, I will assume that the dictator thing isn't working out so well. I will also assume that my small, square mustache scares them.

Too many Hitler references?

On the way back to the car, which was covered in various animal slobber and sending my anxiety through the roof, I caught a glimpse of this. I don't know how to explain it, however, I can understand why people that aren't from the south think we are all a bunch of morons.

Only in the south will you find an out of order microwave sitting on top of a first aid kit, in a box, next to a bug sticky trap, in a wood-paneled room, 25 feet from a giraffe. I'm sorry, America.

Anyway, it actually turned out to be a fun family day that I will always remember. As always, seeing my kids smile and hearing their laughter really does make anything worthwhile...even being attacked by a cow inside my car and chronically worrying about rabies.

The moral of this story?

Pack some hand sanitizer and enjoy your kids today!