Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Therapy some day

In one of the rare posts from Brian:
Yes, we've traumatized Ellie. Again, you might say.
But if there were ever a reason to believe that our little girl would end up in intense therapy one day, our trip to Wolf Park is it.
Dorothy picked up some half price tickets to Wolf Park, which is a pretty neat place near us where wolves are kept on a large, fenced in tract where people can study how they interact with each other in as natural a setting as possible. So, we took the girls out thinking it would be great to see some animals up close.
When you walk into the park area, there's a set of bleachers and several times per day, a volunteer grabs a microphone and talks about how the wolves got here, how they're studied, how they interact and all that wonderful educational stuff. When we got there, one of these was going on.
During these presentations, other volunteers are inside the fence, playing with the wolves or whatnot. Ellie and I got a front-row seat and watched as the animals paced back and forth.
Then it happened:
"Well, it's about time for a feeding demonstration," the woman said into the microphone.
Oh, this will be cool, I thought.
The smell got to us before we saw it. It was a rotting deer, a roadkill deer, that had been dead for some time, gaping wound in its side. There it was, coming around the corner, being wheelbarrowed into the fence. The wolves paced faster.
And then, just a dozen or so feet a way - but still through the fence - it was dumped right in front of Ellie.
"Daddy," she said. "What's that?"
Um ...
"That's a deer, Ellie," I said.
Maybe she'd let it stop at that. Maybe that would suffice.
"Oh, no, Daddy! What are they doing to the deer?!?!" she squealed.
I panicked.
"Well, honey, you know how you like Mini Wheats? The wolves like deer. The deer is just like Mini Wheats," I stammered.
Ellie sat quietly for a second as wolves viciously ripped dripping entrails from the original hole, and now new holes that they'd formed in the deer carcass.
"That's not Mini Wheats, Daddy," she said.
No. It's not.
We may have gotten off lucky. She mostly thought the whole thing was just a little icky. She didn't put together that the deer had once been alive. We haven't seen Babmbi yet, either, and may delay that one for a bit.
Oh, the therapy.

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