Just ask anyone. Well anyone who knows me. I love animals, especially baby animals. Puppies and kittens, rabbits and piglets, crocs and hyenas –all of them. As a child, I brought home injured birds, orphaned hedgehogs and all the stray dogs in the neighbourhood, and most likely several that weren’t.
My poor dad was constantly summoned to attend my sick ‘patients’ in my makeshift animal hospital in the garage. After all he WAS a doctor, so he could make them all better. Well, being an anaesthetist he actually turned out to be more proficient at killing them. And I don’t use the word lightly – at seven years old I watched him drown a helpless, mortally wounded baby bird, fallen from the nest. Of course in his wisdom he knew the poor creature had no chance of survival, faced a miserable death and he just wanted to put it out of it’s misery. But I watched in absolute horror, beating him on his shoulders crying ‘Murderer, you’re a murderer’.
All grown up now, I understand. My beloved Dad it turns out, put many of my little ‘patients’ out of their misery, but in the dead of night whilst I slept and dreamed. I could accept their deaths if I found them peacefully in heaven the next morning.
So my guilty pleasure, which I have somewhat digressed from in my meander down memory lane.
I still love animals, especially baby animals. I love to watch them play, pick them up, squeeze them, cuddle them. Gorgeous white fluffy lambs with little pink noses, cute wrinkled piglets with curly tails. Oh and those absolutely adorable baby goats.
I love them all. But more than I love them - I love, just love to EAT them.
I know you hate me now.
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