Posted by: dave | October 17, 2011

Even better than the real ding

Since Anya’s completely obsessed with bunnies–which, for those who haven’t been keeping up, are called “ding-ding-ging” in Anyaspeak–we had to take her to the petting zoo at the Spring fete that was held on Saturday in the Scientology school that’s directly behind our house.

Yes, you read that right. It’s a primary school for Scientologists, but aside from handing us a bag containing L. Ron Hubbard’s guide to an ethical life (sample advice: “Always remember to brush your teeth”; sample wild claim: “This is the first non-religious guide to an ethical life ever written”, give or take two and a half millennia of philosophy; sample creepy bit: “the insane are incapable of learning and must be avoided”), it’s pretty much your everyday school. So, they do building work that’s vaguely inconsiderate of the neighbours, have music classes, run around the playground screaming at each other, etc. And in the Spring holidays, they have fetes.

So. Anya is completely obsessed with her ding-ding, a little square of fabric with a bunny head on it that accompanies her to bed. We have three identical models so that there’s always one in use, one being washed clean of chewing/puddle/soil/food marks, and one being dried. But, except on one occasion when she was a lot younger, Anya’s never seen a real live bunny.

When we first went into the petting zoo, we were handed a guinea pig. Anya wasn’t too sure what to do with it, and was much more interested in the grey bunny being held by the girl next to us: flinging her arms around and yelling “ding-ding-ding”, caught up in a sort of toddler Beatlemania. I tried to teach her to pat the guinea pig but she wasn’t interested until the little girl went off and we got our hands on the ding-ding.

And then she became rather subdued. I’ve seen her like this before: I call it the ‘meeting-her-god’ moment. I think she was quite simply awe-struck to be in the presence of a living bunny; while she patted it a few times under my guidance, she seemed to be half-fearing that touching it would be a form of sacrilege.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Categories

%d bloggers like this: