Once inside the zoo, Miss Devonshire quickly gathered the lot of us and introduced us to the zoo guide, a guy named Matt. He had curly blond hair, fierce blue eyes, a suntanned face, and a lot of energy.
"Hi everyone! I'm Matt, your zoo guide. Welcome to the Newquay Zoo! We're really glad you're here today."
Matt spent the first few minutes talking about the history of the zoo and some of the weird animals we'd get to see on our visit. "Okay, who wants to see our red pandas?" he finally asked, and all of us shouted our interest. He waved his arm in the air. "Let's go then. Follow me!"
I pushed my way to the front of the group, eager to gauge whether my best mates were still speaking to me and to distance myself from my father and any future outbursts. As we approached the pandas, I made sure to keep far enough away from the animals so my father wouldn't feel the need to intercede.
All of the girls thought the red pandas, which were a whole lot smaller than the black and white pandas we'd all seen in photos, were "sooo cute." Even though the panda looked more like a cat than a bear, we boys talked about the fact they really were bears and bears were ferocious.
"Not quite," Matt corrected. "Although the animal is called a red panda, and we think of a panda as a bear, the red panda is not a predator like the large brown bears and black bears of North America. It's much more like the giant panda from China in that it mostly eats bamboo. But, if it gets really hungry, it may eat eggs, birds, insects, and even small animals."
At the sound of this, most of the girls shrieked. I snuck a quick glance at my dad, who was rolling his eyes. Matt continued to explain why the number of red pandas in the wild was decreasing. I only half listened; I was mostly praying that my dad wouldn't openly disagree with something he said and kind of wished my mum was here instead.
After seeing the pandas and then the African lion which we all agreed was quite dangerous, Matt took us down the trail to see the Breton sheep. "We have a dad and mum sheep here," he told us. "Harry and Matilda. They've been with us for four years."
I supposed they must be special sheep because they were in a zoo, but to me they looked like the sheep I'd seen in the fields and farms around our village. I shrugged with disinterest. Sheep were sheep.
Matt was still talking. "About a month ago, Matilda had a baby." That comment piqued all of our interest. "I'm sure you all know that a baby sheep is called a lamb." We all nodded as he went behind an enclosure and, a minute later, returned carrying a small white lamb in his arms. "We call her Daisy."
I loved small animals. There was a dog named Eddie that hung out around Dad's surgery. Dad didn't like him and liked it even less when I tried to pet him. I'd asked for a dog for Christmas and didn't get one. Knowing my dad's feeling about dogs, my getting a dog was probably never going to happen. So I'd tried asking for a cat, a hamster, a gerbil – even a fish. It didn't take long to figure out that the only animals I'd ever see would be those at my friends' houses, those running loose in the village, or those at the zoo.
And right now, Daisy was the cutest animal I'd ever seen, much better than Eddie. With her white hair, black eyes, pointed ears and pink nose, she looked absolutely adorable. I couldn't take my eyes off her and, when she let out a little "baa," I was in love.
"Is there anyone here who'd like to pet Daisy?" Matt asked, and the air was filled with the sounds of all of us raising our hands and shouting, "Me! Me!" at the same time.
I stood there watching Daisy resting in Matt's arms and suddenly wanted to pet her more than anything. I hung back and watched the other kids crowd forward for the chance to run their hands along the lamb's fluffy hair and stroke her face. I stole a glance at my dad. He looked straight at me and gave a slight shake of his head, which I knew meant I wasn't even to think about it.
Well, at least I could see her up close, closer to a lamb than I'd ever been before. Yeah, I'd seen lambs in the fields outside of Portwenn, but never so close as to be able to touch one. Just when I thought it would be okay and that I would get over not having the chance to pet the animal, Matt pulled a baby bottle out of his pocket. "Has anyone here not had a chance to pet Daisy?" he asked.
By now, only a handful of us non-petters remained and all of us raised our hands. "Well, I've got a special treat for you." He put the lamb on the ground in front of him and held out the bottle. "For being so patient and waiting your turn, those of you who didn't get a chance to pet Daisy can take turns feeding her."
Oh my. I thought I'd wet my pants. I could actually feed Daisy with the bottle. I wouldn't exactly have to touch her because my hand would be on the bottle. Not only did I want desperately to do this, it would give me bragging rights with all the kids in my class. Surely Dad wouldn't . . . he'd at least let me do this, wouldn't he?
Hoping against hope, I nervously again looked back at Dad, standing tall in the sun in his dark suit and gave him my most eager expression.
And again he shook his head. Just one time but it was all I needed. The answer was no. No, I couldn't touch the lamb; no, I certainly couldn't feed the lamb.
And in that moment I hated him. I absolutely hated him. Every other kid in the class got to pet Daisy or feed Daisy. Everyone except me. And all because of my dad. Because my dad had to come on this stupid trip, because my dad had some problem with animals. If Mum had been here, she would have let me pet and feed Daisy, I just knew it. After all, that was the whole reason for my coming on this trip in the first place. It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair.
"Anyone else?" Matt called out, glancing around our small group.
I wanted to step forward, to take my turn feeding that little lamb. Miss Devonshire looked my way. She'd kept track, making sure as she always did that each of us kids had the same opportunity. I could do it. I could disobey my dad. I could touch the lamb before Dad could stop me.
And, with a deep sigh, I knew I couldn't. If I did, Dad would step forward and say or do something that would be even worse than not getting to feed the lamb, something I'd regret for a long, long time. I sighed and shook my head at my teacher, signaling I was okay not doing what everyone else had done and what I so very much wanted to do.
The other kids were so absorbed in watching and petting and feeding Daisy that they hadn't even noticed my lack of participation. Another glance at my Dad found him impatiently checking his watch, clearly oblivous to the depth of my disappointment.
"Okay, then," Matt said in a cheerful voice as handed off Daisy to one of his co-workers.
I despaired at the sight of her being taken away. She was gone, and so was my last chance to touch her.
"Hope you all enjoyed that," Matt addded.
Right, I thought to myself.
Matt started to head down the gravel and dirt path. "Now, let's move on to the reptiles. I know you're all anxious to see the rattlesnakes and the cobras."
The guys all shouted their excitement while the girls screamed in fear.
I hated snakes. I didn't want to see the snakes. I wanted to run back to the sheep pen and feed Daisy or at least pet her. I wanted to cry. The only reason I didn't was that boys my age didn't cry and I'd never live it down. Of course, the other boys had all been able to touch the lamb. They didn't have a father who insisted on coming on field trips and then ruined everything. No, when they got home to their mums and dads, they could tell all about how they'd been able to pet and feed a real lamb.
As our class headed off to the reptile house, I couldn't bear to look at my dad. The only thing I could think was that, of all the dads in the world, why did he have to be mine?
I didn't pay attention during the explanation of various snakes and lizards and toads. I could only think of Daisy and the fact I'd never again have the chance to touch her. Every time I thought about her, my eyes misted up and it was all I could do not to cry.
At this point, I really didn't care what animal we saw next. I couldn't touch it; I couldn't feed it; I couldn't even get near it. I don't know why I was on this stupid trip. I'd be better off looking at animals in a book or watching them on the telly.
The current zoo person who was talking to us was named Allison and, when I finally started listening, realized she was telling us about the ostrich. Whatever. It didn't matter. While everyone else was gathered around Allison and talked excitedly about the large bird, I stood off to the side. I knew I was sulking and I didn't care.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dad walking towards me. I didn't even glance his way as he approached.
"James, are you all right?" He grabbed my shoulders and tried to peer down into my eyes.
I shrugged him off and turned away. "Leave me alone."
"James? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I lied.
He again put his hand on my shoulder. "If nothing's wrong, I don't understand—"
He didn't understand that all I wanted was to be like the other kids. He didn't understand that I wanted to get dirty and ride my bike in the street and have a dog . . . and pet little lambs. And I was beginning to think he never would.
"You don't understand anything. Just let me be." I was nearly sobbing. "Just let me be."
He dropped his hand. "Alright, James." The hurt in his voice matched that in my heart.
