Animal fun?

It wasn’t until yesterday when someone pointed out to me that I had some strange luck with animals that I sat down and thought about it seriously.

When growing up in Aaafrica we had loads of animals (we had a huge house and a huge piece of land with a bit of an orchard at the back) which we had kept as pets at some stage or another. We had geese, chickens (ew, I know…), several dogs over the years, including my very own little dog called Wo-Wi (I couldn’t pronounce his posh name as he came from show-poodle stock and had a genuine cerificate and everything).

The first truly bizarre pet we had was a little “spider” monkey – I can’t remember how we came to own it but it was very cute to look at and it absolutely hated me. I was about eight or so at the time. I remember Pietie (Peetee) loving to sit with my mom, his tail wrapped around her neck, sitting on her shoulder, going everywhere with her in the house. He would jump at me whenever he saw me and shriek wildly, pulling my hair. It was very traumatic, especially as his shrieking was very loud and he had these tiny icy cold little human hands that really hurt. He also had the bad habit of playing with himself…and he peed. A lot. He had a cage though and was hugely pampered and loved by all. Except me. Little hairy bastard. He used to sit on the back of Wo-Wi and screeched incessantly, grabbing onto his little poodle-ears to make him “go”. Wo-Wi would run around with Pietie on his back, obviously terrified of this little hairy freak. I can’t remember when or how we gave him away…but I was really glad.

We also had a chameleon which I was utterly petrified of. It used to hiss loudly whenever you got close to him – he also ate bugs, which is why we had him. Again, he loved travelling around with my mom. Even Wo-Wi hated him as the hissing and the blowing up was very scary.

And Wo-Wi, who was my favourite little animal in all the world, the little sneaky shyte, used to steal my sweets which I hid from everyone underneath my pillow! He also had a penchant for stealing cash from my dad…we trained him to do that so that we could go to the shop and buy sweeties.

Mercifully there were a few years between this and my other traumatic experience with an animal.
Shudder.

We were visiting my sister who lived in Cape Town at the time and we went sight seeing. Everywhere are these signs at the scenic spots telling people NOT to feed the baboons. We get out of the car and I was nibbling on a piece of fudge…and the next minute this huge baboon launched himself at me, bellowing, with huge fangs on display, snatching at the fudge square I was holding in my hands. I was about ten and had no clue. So I shrieked back at it and promptly stuck the square of fudge into my mouth. No way in hell was I sharing my fudge with him – it was rare enough that I got bought a piece. It shrieked at me some more, bounced around, showed me its hairy arse and off it went to call the rest of the troop. We promptly got in the car and drove away. Fast.

Oh, and then there was the time my cousin and I were chased by a hippo down the beach as we were stupid enough to go walkabout before sunset in a nature reserve. Boy, did you ever see a little blond haired girl run like a loon?

Moving to the UK you think to yourself that you would be safe…not Liz. No, she got attacked by a foal whilst walking through the lovely Kent countryside. Much to Mark’s hilarity as he was trying to take a picture of Liz posing dramatically infront of the fence with the mare and foal in the background. The foal thought it would be good fun to try and eat Liz’s hair as it was yellow and is obviously food. So Liz pushed it away and it bit her hand so hard it swelled up to twice its normal size. Thanks, bunches, goddamn horses.

Dartmoor ponies are the get of Satan. We stopped on the moors and I got out to take a few photos of them as they wandered around – a distance away – and Mark goes “Liz, get in the car.” So Liz flaps a hand that indicates “innaminute”. And Mark again sez “getin, getin”. I turn to look to my right, the blind side and there loomed this giant damn pony the size of well, a pony, with this huge head, right next to me. I could see the end of days in his eyes. He had wandered across the road, to come stand next to me, leading his other hellish buddies with him from the far side of the road. They had circled the jeep ( a bit like those Cravendale cows wanting their milk back ) and eventhough I had scrambled into the car again, we couldn’t move. So we sat there for a bit, panicking…eventually they ambled off. We had to go for sustenance at the local pub and I was shaking. Once again to Mark’s hilarity.

Undomesticated animals are scary. Sheep are creepy, always with the watching and the beady little eyes. Shudder.