I was born and raised in a city of nearly a million people. I had a backyard, but barely. I’ve always dreamed of having my own farm. I’m closer, map-wise, since I’m living in this cow-town these days but I’m no nearer to my dream in any sort of real way. Someday, though, I hope to have goats, pigs, chickens and perhaps a horse or two. My husband has quite a different animal-based dream. He brought it up a week ago, while we were driving through Tiger Pass in Washington.
“I want a gorilla friend,” he said, to my utter puzzlement. “I figure he can control the tiger for me, too.”
“You can’t have a tiger, we talked about this.”
“Because it will eat you the first chance it gets.”
“That’s what the gorilla is for!”
That’s not a perfect transcript but that’s as close as I can get. To my chagrin, I have never had the presence of mind to record these conversations when they happen. The gorilla thing is new but John has wanted a tiger for a while. It seems so strange to me that a man who can barely stand to have our one cat (and has forbidden the purchase of another) wants so badly to have a nearly half-ton jungle cat. And a gorilla besides.
But that’s my husband.