THE CALMING POWER OF CAKE

We retired to the farm café where I attempted to calm Wilson down with a cup of strong coffee and a Belgian Bun. 

He sat quietly for a while, absently sprinkling ants over his food, before asking me, 'Do you think it was like that when I was born, New Dad?'

I told him it probably was. He thought for a few minutes, then said, 'I thought I knew all about being born, because I helped my Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, with all her babies after me — but it wasn't all yucky like that!'

'How did you help her?' I asked.

'Well, he replied, ' I sat in the kitchen doing some colouring-in and keeping out of the way, while my Big Sister, Andrea, ran about with towels and hot water. And told me not to worry. Or go into the bedroom...' 

He drifted into silence.

'Is that what was happening in the bedroom?' he asked. I nodded.

'Eeeuw!' he exclaimed. 

But then, with the resilience I have come to expect from anteaters, he tucked into his bun and drained his coffee cup.

Smacking his lips and dusting crumbs out of his fur, he asked me one last question: 'So, what do you think about a pet pig? He'd be adorable, and I'd walk him and clean him and feed him and everything!'

I told him I'd think about it.

I think we all know what that means...