My recent zoo experience included a lizard, a rat, an armadillo and a tortoise: It was the "bear" minimum

"I have Friday off!" I sang, as I burst into the house, twirling like Maria Von Trapp on that mountain. "That's a lot of excitement from a girl who will spend most of the day in her jammies staring blankly at the TV before lamenting all of the things that she could have accomplished," my husband observed, having experienced my days off-sloth for the past three decades. 

I glared at my husband whose definition of decompression includes hours of manual labor and the so-called betterment-of-one's-self. Ugh.

"No," I told him, recovering quickly, "I get to see my Mom."

 This...Brad Mosiman could get on board with. "That's great," he told me, "Are you going to take her to lunch?" 

"No," I exclaimed, "Even better! The Zoo-mobile is scheduled at Mom's Assisted Living Community on Friday! I'll take her to see the animals!"

Brad stared at me. "You're going to drag your poor mother out of her apartment to see some low-rent rats and reptiles? You might as well bring her here." 

Disgusted, I folded my arms and scolded him. "It will be a very enriching experience! It's good for her to get out and be engaged. Besides, our animal guy who visits the school brought a Fennic fox and a monkey wearing a diaper! Remember when I fed a binturong a banana?"

"Your mother does not need to be enriched. I swear, ever since you saw the zoo keepers give the tigers their food encased in a giant ice cube and hide treats in the monkey enclosure, you have lost your perspective. Your mom likes to go for walks, do her puzzles, play Crazy 8s, and eat meals with us," my husband declared, "But, that being said, seeing animals is always fun. Knock yourself out."

Naturally, my expectations were WAY too high.

"The ceiling seems a tad low to comfortably accommodate a camel," I spit-balled, after I'd successfully wrangled my mother from her room. One of the residents frowned at me. Over the course of the next hour, they would arrange a schedule so they could each have a turn at frowning at me. Nobody was interested in my binturong story. 

The Zoo-mobile people arrived and we (me) were all a-twitter with excitement. 

Plastic totes with air holes punched in the sides were lugged in. I was fairly certain that none of my dream animals would be contained within a plastic tote with air holes punched in it but, as I had scored my mother a prime viewing area, we were now committed ("You should be committed," Brad agreed later, "What did you think they were going to bring to an Assisted Living Facility? A baby bear? A river otter? An emu?" Yes. Yes. and...Yes.). 

We were first told that we would not be touching any of the animals. We would be permitted to touch approximations of each animal. Like what? Sand paper? A rock? A coconut? I was approximately twenty-five feet from the elevator. I glanced at my mother. If I angled her towards her walker, we might be able to make a run for it. She patted my arm and told me to be patient. I noticed one of our docents was sipping water from a plastic cup and wondered if it was an approximation. "Do you think that's actually vodka?" I asked my mother, "Or tequila?" The docent mouthed, "I wish" as my mother frowned at me. I told her that it wasn't her turn.

First animal out of a plastic tote with air holes drilled in the side was a bearded dragon. I think one of my 4th graders has one of those as a pet. The docent carried it around the room for each of us to inspect...teasingly close enough to see yet heart-breakingly too far to touch. We touched a weird rolled-up snake skin instead. "What was that?" my mother asked. I showed her the picture I had taken of the animal consistently ranked in the top two of lizard pets. "Oh...nice," she said.

Thus started a fun pattern. Animal pulled out of tote...carried around the room. My mother dutifully and politely inspecting each one and then, once it had passed, turning to ask me what the dickens we were looking at. "What a nice picture," she would say each time. Mom agreeably patted a beaver pelt and a turtle shell. Unlike many residents, she was unconcerned when the twenty pound tortoise pooped on the floor. "It had to poop somewhere," she shrugged, "Did you get a picture?" Nice.

The three-banded armadillo was a big hit. The rat was met with mixed reviews. Our volunteer did an impressive job trying to sell us on the positive attributes of her fuzzy rodent. Nice try, lady.

After admiring a lizard, a rat, and armadillo, and a tortoise, Mom and I retired back to her apartment for some ice cream. "This is delicious," Mom sighed, "I'm so glad you came today!" 

Next time, I'll try hiding her ice cream somewhere in her living quarters. Or maybe freeze it in a block of ice. "Ice cream is already frozen," Mom told me, frowning. 

"So the Zoo-mobile didn't quite meet your expectations?" Brad asked (already knowing the answer). "No, it was good," I replied. "Hey! Did you know that tortoises have nerves in their shell?" I described how the zoo keeper demonstrated this by scratching the shell and the tortoise responded in a way similar to how a dog does when you hit the sweet spot. "Did your mom enjoy it?" my husband asked. "She didn't hate it," I told him. "I think I'm on the right track. Hey...maybe next time...less zoo and more Zumba!"

Brad laughed. "Make sure you take pictures."