Animals Don't Like My Son, Except Armadillos

Do you need to write a funny vignette or narrative type 2? Here's an example I wrote. 

Our oldest son has a bad track record with animals. Or should I say they  have a bad record with him, either way, the son-animal relationship is complicated. 

He was gored by a Vietnamese potbelly pig at a petting zoo when he (son, not pig) was three. Fortunately his tusks had been trimmed (pig's not son's). 

A goat ate his leaf at 5 (age, not time, son, not goat). "His" is dubious, given son had taken said leaf from a tree in said goat's cage in the first place. Boy did he caterwaul (said son, not goat. It just quietly ate said leaf). Monkeys screeched, zebras stampeded. People ducked and covered. We thought something had eaten son's arm off and was working it's way up the torso. Apparently by the sound it hadn't reached his mouth. 

Then son was pursued (with malicious intent) by a flock of geese at Deer Forest's Storybook Lane. He was six, not that it matters.  Anyone who knows fowl, knows hell hath no fury like an enraged goose. Poor sonny-son, we'd not briefed him on goose protocol. We found him eyes glazed, mud-covered and cowering Peter Peter Pumpkin-Eater's big stucco pumpkin. 

But he was able to bond with one species: the armadillo. He was age 26, which might be important. Or it might not be. We encountered them at a nature preserve in St. Martinville, Louisiana. Being Michiganders, we'd never even seen one. Both sons were intrigued. Younger son Jake is animal-y and tried to pet one. We all howled with laughter as he shrieked (literally said eeek!) and ran when the armadillo only turned to look at him. I've read they're timid (armadillos, not sons). 

I guess we're more citfied than we realize. 

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