Page 82 of Dibs
“The flamingos. They’re my favorite.” She beamed.
We walked to the map near the front entrance and, to our luck, the flamingos were a hop, skip, and a jump away.
“Did you know flamingos are born gray or white?” I asked my seven-year-old as we gazed out at the pink birds standing in a lagoon.
Her little blue eyes stared up at me. “Really?”
“Yeah. They get their pink color from what they eat.”
Cammie thought for a moment. “Flamingos eat watermelons?”
“Probably.” I chuckled. “But I’m not sure wild flamingos can find watermelon to eat.”
“Then how do they turn pink?”
I should have known my daughter would ask a ton of questions because she was a curious little thing. I pulled out my phone and skimmed an article before blurting out, “Shrimp. They eat shrimp.”
She blinked. “Shrimp?”
“Yeah. Shrimp are pink.” Well, they were when they were cooked, but I wasn’t sure I could explain to an eight-year-old how a flamingo turned pink from a non-cooked shrimp because of pigments they digested. I left it at ‘shrimp were pink’. “Let’s go check out something else.”
Since neither of us had been to the San Diego Zoo before, we took the Kangaroo Bus so we could see all the animals along the way. We saw everything imaginable, even monkeys that were in an apparent love triangle.
“What’s a love triangle?” Cammie asked.
“I … Uh …” I rubbed the back of my neck as the bus continued along. “Oh, look. An alligator.” I pointed in the distance at what I hoped was an actual alligator.
She was distracted, thank heavens. Animal after animal, Cammie was in awe of everything she spotted.
* * *
“Are flamingos still your favorite?”I asked as we walked out of the front gate several hours later. It had been a long day, but one that both of us enjoyed.
“No.” She shook her head. “I really loved the polar bears.”
“Yeah, those were amazing.”
“They were soooo big.”
“They sure were, baby girl.” I smiled.
“Like two of me.”
I snorted. “More like ten of you.”
“Yeah.” She laughed. “I wish I could have one as a pet.”
I threw my head back and roared with laughter. “I think maybe we need to start with something a little smaller.”
She stopped walking and squealed. “Can we get a puppy?”
“Um ...” My eyes widened.
“Please?” she begged, clasping her hands together as though she were praying. “Or a kitty. Or a bunny. Or—”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” I held up my hands. “We can’t just go get a pet.”
“Oh.” Cammie stuck out her bottom lip.
