“How about we duck down to the RSPCA for some cuddles with kittens?” Tracey asked the kids this week when she had an hour to fill in while I pretended I knew what a brake cylinder was at the bus workshop.
With our being tied down to Gympie for the last couple of weeks we’ve been looking for things to amuse our tribe and stop them biting each other’s heads off.
We’re finally only a couple of days and we’re off again on the next leg of our journey. While we were planning to go north and across Northern Territory to Western Australia about now, we’ve had to tinker with our plan some more because Tracey’s final operations are again on the cards for this year, meaning we want to stay relatively close.
And by relatively, I mean on the east coast.
So come Saturday we’re starting to head south to the Sydney and Canberra areas. You know, because at a forecast of 3 degrees for tomorrow morning in our nation’s capital the weather is so balmy at the moment.
Actually, I’m super excited because I’ve never been to Canberra, so it’ll be another Australian capital city I can cross of my to-do list. Plus, I’ve been wanting to pull Malcolm aside and tell him what he’s doing wrong, since it’s obvious to me no-one else down there is.
Meanwhile, a session with baby animals seemed like a great idea to relieve a bit of stress.
It was not.
“What the hell’s happened?” I asked Tracey. Loudly, so she could hear me. “Were they closed?”
“I wish!” she shouted back. “It didn’t go quite as well as I expected!”
“Didn’t they like playing with kittens?” I asked, surprised.
They didn’t like playing with kittens in much the same way Scrooge McDuck doesn’t like playing with money.
“Mack and I had a connection!” Master12 yelled from the backseat. He wasn’t yelling angrily, it was just the only way he was going to be heard over his three youngest sisters. “I wanted to keep him!”
In fact, despite already having both a cat and a dog, the drama was they all wanted to keep their kittens.
Animals clearly intended to be an issue for us this week, because this was not the only furball incident of note. On the bright side, though, the cat thing was all on Tracey’s shoulders. The dog thing a day later, not so much.
“Did you want to tell the kids or should I?” I said pointedly to Tracey in front of the kids.
“I think you can have the honour,” she said to me, primarily because she had no idea what the hell I was thinking. The reason for this, I’d hazard a guess, was because I hadn’t told here anything about what I was about to say. Which was, in hindsight, probably why I was still about to do it.
“You know how Winter was getting spayed next week?” I said to the kids. All eyes were fixed on me. “Well, we can’t now,” – pause for effect – ,”because she’s going to have puppies!”
“REALLY?!?” squealed Miss10, followed by delighted exclamations from her siblings and even the joyous clapping of hands from Miss7.
Brilliant, I thought. Ignorantly, it turns out.
“April Fools!” I shouted.
“Good one,” said Tracey, although I’m fairly certain that was sarcasm because the space in front of us was now filled with more screaming, crying and, ultimately, angry children. “What the hell was that?” she wanted to know.
“A joke?” I suggested.
“Aren’t they traditionally supposed to end in laughter?”
Bugger worrying about drama from taking the kids to see the RSPCA kittens, it’s Tracey who’s the real concern – she comes back sooo friggin’ catty.
If you’re wanting photos done by Tracey in these areas, or between there and Gympie, then this is your chance. We’re basically letting Tracey’s work dictate our itinerary. Send her a message on email@example.com