One day last spring, My Partner and I took Kit for a bush walk. Spring is the best time to hike in Western Australia because summer temperatures, and ‘inhospitable’ wildlife make hiking in summer as advisable as licking a toilet brush.
We had decided to hike the King Jarrah Trail. The King Jarrah is a tree, very large old for the area. Since it was logged, the majority of vegetation there consists of enthusiastic weeds and native plants as immature as a grown man on a bouncy castle.
Kit was amused by our maps.
“You won’t see meerkats with maps and GPS units,” he announced proudly, “We all have the Sixth Sense!”
“How does being psychic help you navigate?” I asked.
“Not that,” he replied, “Meerkat sixth sense is a Sense of Direction.”
“I have that,” I objected, “I can tell up from down blindfolded.”
“Please leave the dad jokes to Dad,” he groaned.
We saw the King Jarrah, which was not so much wide as it was tall. After straining to see its top, I realized I needed to see the optometrist (not that I would be able to).
There were other highlights. Kit saw his first tic. When I told him what and how they eat, he looked unimpressed, and promptly ate it, just to be on the safe side.
Kit likes to try to identify birds from their calls, and I suffer from hayfever. Unfortunately, every time a bird called, I would sneeze, and Kit would glare at me. By the end of our hike, he was no longer saying, “Bless you.” Instead, he said:
“I know an old Meerkat Remedy for hayfever. When we get home, I’ll cure you.”
So we finished our walk, and Kit asked His Dad to help him in the kitchen. An hour or so later, he proudly presented me with a concoction of the utmost foulness. Kit’s ‘remedy’ smelled like a freezer that had had the power turned off and been closed for 6 months…after somebody stowed a dead body in it.
His Dad had supervised, so I downed the mixture (it was only a teaspoon full). It tasted like dirty socks and offal.
“What on earth is in this?!” I exclaimed, repulsed.
“Mostly dirty socks soaked in water, and offal,” he replied, all innocence.
“Kit!” I exclaimed, glaring at His Dad, “That’s dirty and unhygienic.”
“They were your dirty socks,” he said accusingly.
“But it probably won’t cure you,” he admitted, giggling, “I can’t believe you drank it. I was just getting you back for scaring all the birds away!”