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Petting Farm

September 19, 2009

A petting farm is nothing if not a 2-hour photo op. Our trip was particularly pleasant because the rest of the world seemed to have something better to do on the day we went. T practically had the place to himself.

First pony ride. Ever since, each car trip is a brutal and constant, “Horses? Want to see Horses! Horses? Horses?!?”
“I’m not too sure about this thing standing behind me. You’re gonna pick me up now, right?”
“I definitely like petting animals better from above them.”

“Milk comes from there?”
Greedy goats, or, Hand Sanitizer – Oh How I Love Thee
Pot-bellied pigs. We found a box of brushes presumably for the pigs, and T had a ball brushing them. They relentlessly tried to eat my shoes, so I was far less of a fan than T was.
“I think I could really get into this farming thing.”
(Disclaimer: This trip was actually a couple of weeks ago. Yes, he’s had a haircut since then, and no, it isn’t pretty.)


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