Willa and I were lazily swimming in Jim's parents' pool. She was telling me that she'd like a pet bunny. And a bird. Also a few kitties, a frog, a third dog, some more fish. And, of course a chicken. This kid: she's soooo me. I should not be shocked. We've had ample warning. Take a look at this post from when she was 18 months old.
So, back to the pool. She and I started joking about pet giraffes and other ridiculous animals for pets. I share with her the following:
Me: When I was a little girl, we weren't allow to have any pets that had fur or feathers.
Me: Because of Uncle Bill's asthma. Fur and feathers would make it really hard for him to breathe. So, I decided one day that I would like a pet pig.
Willa: That's a good idea! They only have little hairs!
Me: I know, smart, eh? So, my mom said that if the city allowed a pet pig, she'd think about it. I found their number in the phone book and called to ask. Wasn't that brave, Willa? I was only eight years old.
Willa (with huge eyes): What happened?
Me: Well, when they answered, I asked, and they laughed and hung up on me. They thought it was a joke.
Pals, this really happened when I was little. I cried for the rest of the afternoon.
She and I laughed, and spent another hour playing in the water.
We went into the house to change back into clothes. When she was done, she picked up a toy telephone, and said, "hello, Grand Rapids? Can I please have a pet chicken?" And then she hung up, laughing.