Andy has a thing for rocks. He just loves them. He particularly loves gravel. Any time we walk on our alley behind our house he stops every 15 feet to pick up a handful of tiny rocks and throws them. (And then gets yelled at for throwing rocks, obviously.)
Yesterday my friend Kate and I took him to the zoo. All was going well. He'd found some gravel here and there and shoved his hand into it, thought about throwing it, and then put it down when I spoke sharply to him. Then we got to the goat pen.
And what do goats do? They poop. A lot.
Do you know what goat poop looks like?
It looks like gravel.
As he said, "Rocks!" and his hand reached for the pile of "goat gravel", the shriek I let out was probably heard for half a mile. He jerked his hand back in terror, looked up at me with a quivering lip and burst into tears. All the other mothers laughed hysterically. That made him even more upset because he thought they were mocking him.
It was as close a call as they come.
I need to record these things before they disappear.
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