TallBirdStory.

As a child, I was all for animals. I thought they were little magic angels, immune to parents and bedtimes. If I saw a dog, I would pet it - really hard - and being licked in response only stimulated my desire for its attention. Even when I was scolded for petting against the dog's hair, he still LICKED me. I couldn't disappoint animals.

I would later find out that this so called "licking" was really an attempt to punish my hand.

This next part is called

THE BETRAYAL

I really liked the idea of a zoo, where animals conglomerated together. However, the fact that I couldn't pet them didn't appeal to me. Plus it was always too hot and smelly. Like igneous tuna.

So instead, I was taken to a tiny locally owned petting zoo. I bet its still there, just look for the sign "Awful Lie-To-Children Folks LLC".

I don't remember anything except for this next part, because it was pretty scarring - and I liked the Backstreet Boys, so I was tough.

On those terms, imagine I walked right up to the ostrich, totally ignoring the neat wolves and dragons.

Eye contact is made.

Wait no, he looked more like this.

Notice the cold, calculating eyes. These eyes do not understand trivial matters such as pain or birthdays.

Also, note the horns and matching goatee. Alarming!

And those are not extra Stranglin' Limbs sprouting from his neck - that is a boo-boo from his glory days in the Jurassic era. The cavemen called him la chupacabra. I don't know what that is, but it sounds scary, so this thing was totally that thing.

Once our eyes meet, a statement is made. I don't understand it, but I gather it is mostly a poor attempt at trash talk. My innocent eyes see past the threats.

I start to reach for the monstrous bird, but just as he is about to fulfill his quest for blood, the petting zoo owner reminds me that I have no food. He only delays my fate. I grab a handful of the offered ostrich food as he fills me in on the correct feeding position.

Now, here's the kicker;

I guess he feels the need to say something to me, so he unnecessarily states "Go on, he doesn't bite."

I reach again for the living fossil, this time with a great big motive in hand.

The bird wastes no time and clamps down on my baby hand. He then LOCKS his beakjaw. Probably. I was crying more than studying the situation.

Thinking quickly, and may I say efficiently, the pet owner then shoots the beast with some sort of awesome gun. The bird evades the bullet, flies above our heads, squawking something like "Hail Hitler", and then plummets back into the depths of Hades. Where it so belongs.

Actually that's the only part that didn't happen, and the only part that should've.

I don't really recall what happened after that, because my unblemished childhood was pretty much over. That dinosaur violated me.

Animals now, en masse, give me the stink eye and I just can't impress them. I think it's always been this way, but now I am aware.

As a sub-story, years later, walking through a ZOO - ironically - I'm telling a couple friends this very story. I finish as we approach the emus. They look the same as the aforementioned satanbirds, but they're shorter and I'm pretty sure have self-esteem issues. Not seconds after I say the words "But emus are completely different birds", the freaking thing lurches at my stomach, luckily only accomplishing a slight shirt-bite. This forever seals the reputation of long-necked birds.

I started an organization, a lot like PETA. All you have to do is say mean things to ostriches and emus when you see them. Roadrunners acceptable.