Yesterday my daughter and grandchildren took me to the zoo. I hadn’t been for over 30 years. We lived in the country for 16 of those years, for five of them Jeff was in college and we couldn’t afford to go and, for the rest of them, I was unable to walk far enough or long enough to stroll around it. Then a year or so ago we bought a wheelchair, so I could attend things that required more walking than I was able to do. With the happy combination of wheels, a pupil-free day from school, a perfect spring day (so, not too hot) and my daughter having a client-free day, we finally got to go.

I sat staring at the giant pandas thinking, “I never thought I’d ever see these creatures in the flesh and, oh my giddy aunt, there they are! And, they’re gorgeous.”

The zoo people had made enormous changes since I was last there. The awful concrete boxes with iron bars were all gone. Everything was lush and green. There were a lot less animals but they were housed with much more room and things for them to do, so that was great. The keepers obviously care deeply for the animals and are happy to talk about them. I had a very interesting chat with one of the panda keepers. The pandas don’t just eat bamboo, they are also opportunistic carnivores: rodents, lizards etc.  That made a lot more sense, having seen their teeth. Those things were made for more than just peeling bamboo.

Sharing the day with us was two bus-loads of school children. There was much squealing and rushing about. They would race up to an enclosure and many of the animals would then back away. A lioness rushed forward, stood and stared while a group of 13/14 year old boys made jokes and carried on in the bravado-display that teenage boys think is cool. Suddenly she bared her teeth and roared. The whole group leaped back as one. It was hilarious.

In the “petting area”, the kids rushed in, climbed fences, got told off by the keeper, squealed and rushed out again, having only paid cursory attention to the animals. However, we found a quiet, shady corner. My grandchildren sat down and quietly waited. A little quokka (think ‘miniature kangaroo the size of a small cat, with a delightful smile’) toddled over, gave my granddaughter some friendly kisses on her leg and then climbed into my grandson’s lap. It curled up, gave a little contented sigh and settled in for a nap. We gently patted it and just enjoyed its company.

Another load of squealing tourists rushed in and rushed out. The quokka climbed into my granddaughter’s lap and shared the love. Long after the noise had disappeared and we had spent quite some time in that spot, we decided to move on. (The meerkats were calling my name.) The quokka followed us out but stopped short of the gate. I think it enjoyed the interlude as much as we did.

And there was the lesson for the day: quietness and gentleness has its own reward.