If you have never been to a drive through zoo, ignore what your hippie friends say about it being unnatural and cruel to the animals. These buggers have room to run my friend, and they love it. For the big deuce deuce my mother of all people, decided to take myself as well as my best friend from middle school, my sister and her close friend slash the equivalent to my long time bf-fer to this little fairy tale out in Sequim. Ok, the drive sucked and when we got there it looked like the great-lost planes. We all had to pee and the stalls were sized for midgets, and when we went to pay for our tickets they gave us loaves of bread to feed the animals.
We entered and drove along, my mother acting like her father: tense, uncomfortable, and awkward comments inserted constantly. Up the hill we went, click click, click, our own desert splash mountain.
We drove down to enter into steer land. These fellas came up to our car door windows, sniffing and eye balling all of us 20 some year olds in awe. And of course, we squealed and cooed at the furry, incredibly up close creatures. As my sister shrunk in her seat, and my mother forgot she was driving- hence the neutral shift to the right, off the beaten trail, I stuffed my face as close as I could manage to the steer, grabbing their horns and patting their long noses.
You know who weren’t friendly? The fucking zebras, they bucked our rear view mirror and shivered their black and white stripes- I quickly began to dislike them as much as refs (stop zebra fans, they are cute from afar). So the trek continued, to the bears who waved at us for slices of whole-wheat bread- no really, they would wave at us, it was the kind of cute that makes you vomit. We saw the rhino…sleeping, lame. We then entered the “dangerous” territory of elk and bison. The only dangerous thing about bison, minus their obtuse dingle-berries is their breath. One whiff of that and you’ll be nauseous for hours. I was desperate for more wildlife animal interaction, so in my attempt, I licked slices of bread and slapped them on to the windshield. My mother (insert my grandfather’s personality, think edgy, in an off-putting way) “What, what, Jane, what the fuck are you doing?” Without glancing over to her ticking neck, I finished my bread Picasso. “You’re going to bring all the damn seagulls to shit on my car Jane!” She clearly couldn’t see the mastermind at work, creating a trap for animals to enter only to fall for me to grab them gently and embrace them with my, ahem, love. We drove through the open terrain, about to finish off the tour, when the last pack of bison and elk emerged. I stuck my hands out, in a gun like fashion and jabbed persistently at my bread windshield. For those who don’t know me, when I get excited, an odd masculine voice takes over.
I yelled, “THIS IS MY MOMENT!”
Uh, False, watching a damn deer lick off residue from a windshield is not “My MOMENT” but merely another excuse to go to the car wash.
So after a solid two hours of being harassed by animals, and vice versa, more versa, less vice. We explored the world of Sequim, where they have signs next to life vests saying “KIDS DON’T FLOAT”, and a John Wayne memorial (one of my all time favorite actors).
We decided to make a quick late lunch stop, at some marina grill where 70-year-old women drink electric blue cocktails while adorned in bright pink lipstick.
Laughing that hard while animals tried to suck bread from our hands had taken the better of us, we stared at our clam chowder and salads in exhaustion- knowing that we had the birthday event to attend to that night.