The six-year-old scales the stairs of the mansion. She is wearing army fatigues, a pair of oversized sunglasses, a woolly hat and a comically large back-pack.
“Let’s go,” she says, nonchalantly.
We board a bus bound for the zoo.
We see snakes and elephants and lions and gorillas. But the six-year-old doesn’t appear to enjoy them. She is on edge and refuses to remove or explain her attire.
“I want to see the pygmy-goats,” she suddenly declares.
The pygmy-goats are located in an open farm area, where visitors are free to roam.
The six-year-old waits patiently until the farm is free of people, then leaps into action.
She slams her bag to the floor and unzips it. She removes from the bag a carrot, which is attached to a piece of string. She holds the string and chucks the carrot. When one of the the pygmy-goats attempts to bite the carrot, she tugs the string toward her and the goat faithfully follows. She repeats this process three or four times, until the pygmy-goat is a yard from the back-pack.
Then she makes her move.
She throws the bag over the pygmy-goat’s head and grabs its legs. A scuffle ensues.
All I can do is watch, paralysed by intrigue.
The goat is nimble and strong and manages to escape, kicking mud in the six-year-old’s face as it flees.
The six-year-old throws her hat in the air and punches the ground in frustration.
“Can I try again with a Cheestring?” she asks, as she dusts herself down.
The Male Nanny
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