Barnyard Break: Agricultural Museum

   
    In the spirit that (hopefully) perpetuates this blog I visited one of the events from the past weekend.  I give the Agricultural Museum experience a rating of six out of 10 ringworms.

   The first thing you'll notice as an adult at the Agricultural Museum is all of the children. The events and exhibits are aimed pretty much exclusively toward them. All of the sinks are groin-height and the doors are surprisingly lightweight.

I actually stopped counting how many kids I facepalmed to get first-petsies on a goat or a lamb.

   There was, as with any place that people keep animals, a depressing stop on the tour. In an effort to accurately exemplify commercial standards, giant pigs are kept in tiny pens with sawdust covering one half and a concrete drainage stage on the other to hose away their poo. Knowing pig's affinity for frolicking, it upset me. However, a woman with a Burt Reynold's mustache  helpfully reminded me that pigs are not pets so should not be treated as such (although it is widely understood that pigs are smarter than pets and toddlers).
Here's to hoping they'll hang up some literature and open up the windows instead of keeping the porkers indoors all year long.

 

  I didn't get to touch any chickens as they were out of reach. This is just conjecture but all chickens are assholes. I expect to love them again someday but will not forget the burn from their iciness. 

  

 I was most surprised to find love at the Agricultural Museum. As with every great love story there was an obstacle to overcome. In this case the obstacle was animals being disgusting: 

   Finding the adorable in this cud-chewer opened my heart and flooded my soul with the warm willingness to love. I never could have predicted the calculated attack on my sense of dignity through the doors labelled “Calves: Petting Allowed”

              The risk of contracting ringworm be damned.

              He has big eyes, a potential name of Vincenzo, and a slaughter-auction date about a week away.