I recall going on a field trip to a farm as a preschooler. The idea of going to the farm and seeing the animals excited me, but the reality of the place didn’t quite meet my expectations. In fact, at one point, we went into the full-on barn and the scent so overwhelmed me, I started gagging. My mom and I headed outside to wait until the other children were finished.
I’ve never had a pet and, frankly, only really remember casually wanting a cat. My best friend’s home had three, however, so I could enjoy their cats without all the work. I remember someone once telling me that I must be missing something emotionally because I’ve never had a pet. Ouch. I’m just one of those people who’s happy to pet your dog for a few minutes and then let you deal with the smell, slobber, and hair. I know, I know. But then I miss out on all the real joy and companionship of a pet. But I’m okay with that.
My children, on the other hand, don’t seem to have inherited my hesitation when it comes to animals. Case in point:
We recently went on a field trip with Ella’s preschool class to a local farm and this is how it went:
Maybe there’s an ‘animal apathy gene’ that comes from the Beckstead side, because the only animal lover in my family is Stephen (and he’s more Karlinsey than Beckstead). As grown ups, none of my siblings are interested in letting their families have a pet. I don’t mind animals in the abstract, general sense, BUT I definitely mind them in the literal, personal sense. I’m with you—let them lick, smell, shed, slobber, bark/hiss and generally ‘germ up’ someone else (and their house). But if I’m missing an animal loving gene, then I also have to say that I’m missing the gene that allows me to connect with animal lovers. I just don’t get them. People who are crazy about animals kind of weird me out. I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t understand how people get so emotionally tied to something that can’t communicate with you verbally.