World Giraffe Day

The trouble started at breakfast.

To be fair, with Barry, the trouble usually started at breakfast.

Sometimes before breakfast.

Occasionally the night before.

On this particular Tuesday morning, Mrs Brand was trying to answer emails while making toast.

Mr Brand was on a work call.

Alfie was eating cereal and reading a book about volcanoes.

Barry was staring thoughtfully at a banana.

Marmaduke had arrived early because his mum had an appointment and preschool started in twenty minutes.

The two boys sat side by side.

This is how most disasters begin.

“What are you doing?” Alfie asked suspiciously.

Barry held up the banana.

“I’m practising.”

“For what?”

“Being a giraffe.”

Alfie blinked.

“What?”

Barry stretched his neck.

Today was World Giraffe Day at preschool.

The children had been told to wear giraffe costumes.

There would be a vegetarian lunch.

There would be giraffe-themed games.

And, for reasons known only to preschool teachers, there would be stilts in the garden.

The teachers had described this as “great fun.”

The insurance company had not been consulted.

Barry peeled the banana.

“Giraffes eat leaves.”

“Bananas aren’t leaves.”

“They’re basically leaves.”

“They absolutely are not.”

Barry ignored him.

Marmaduke nodded.

“They’re leaf-adjacent.”

Alfie looked at the ceiling.

Sometimes he wondered if he had been accidentally adopted by sensible people and placed in the wrong family.

Mrs Brand finally closed her laptop.

“Right. Shoes on. Bags packed. Giraffes ready?”

Barry and Marmaduke stood up.

Both boys were wearing homemade giraffe costumes.

Mrs Brand had spent three evenings creating them.

Barry’s costume looked mostly like a giraffe.

Marmaduke’s looked mostly like a giraffe that had experienced a small electrical accident.

Still, they were proud of them.

Barry had even insisted on a tail.

A decision that would later prove unfortunate.

At preschool, the children gathered in the playground.

Tiny giraffes bounced everywhere.

Some had face paint.

Some had spots.

One child appeared to have come dressed as a zebra.

Nobody had the heart to correct him.

Miss Patel, the preschool teacher, clapped her hands.

“Welcome, giraffes!”

The children cheered.

“We’re going to learn all about giraffes today.”

More cheering.

“We’re going to make giraffe masks.”

Cheering.

“We’re going to eat vegetables.”

Silence.

Children glanced at one another nervously.

Vegetables were rarely greeted with enthusiasm.

Barry raised a hand.

“What if a giraffe wants chips?”

“No chips.”

“What if it’s an emergency?”

“No chips.”

“What if the giraffe is very brave?”

“No chips.”

Barry sighed.

Life was full of injustice.

The morning passed surprisingly well.

The children painted giraffes.

They coloured giraffes.

They listened to stories about giraffes.

Barry spent most of story time trying to determine whether giraffes could defeat dinosaurs.

Miss Patel wisely declined to answer.

Then came lunch.

The menu consisted of carrot sticks, cucumber sticks, vegetable wraps and fruit.

The teachers proudly described it as “a healthy giraffe feast.”

Barry stared at his plate.

“So…”

“Yes?” asked Miss Patel.

“Where’s the feast?”

“This is the feast.”

Barry looked around.

Several children appeared equally disappointed.

Marmaduke picked up a carrot.

“Giraffes eat these.”

“They do.”

Marmaduke chewed thoughtfully.

“We’re basically giraffes.”

“Exactly.”

Barry examined his carrot.

Then he held it between his lips.

“Look! Tusks!”

Several children copied him.

Within seconds half the room resembled walruses.

Miss Patel sighed.

Teachers learn many skills during training.

Unfortunately, “preventing vegetable walrus impersonations” is not one of them.

After lunch came the event everyone had been waiting for.

The stilts.

Miss Patel led the children into the garden.

There stood six sets of small children’s stilts.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing dangerous.

Just little plastic stilts designed to make children slightly taller.

What could possibly go wrong?

A question that history repeatedly answers.

Barry’s eyes widened.

“We can become REAL giraffes!”

“Not real giraffes,” said Miss Patel.

“Temporary giraffes.”

“No.”

“Mini giraffes?”

“Still no.”

The children lined up.

Each child took a turn.

Most wobbled.

Most giggled.

Most managed three or four careful steps.

Then came Barry.

Barry climbed onto the stilts.

He wobbled.

He steadied.

Then he discovered he was surprisingly good at it.

“Oh.”

He took a step.

Then another.

Then another.

Soon he was striding confidently across the grass.

The teachers looked impressed.

The teachers should not have looked impressed.

Barry immediately noticed.

“I’m brilliant at this.”

Miss Patel made a note to stop praising Barry in public.

Marmaduke climbed onto another pair.

He took one step.

Then another.

Then looked at Barry.

“What are we doing?”

Barry pointed dramatically across the garden.

“We must migrate.”

“Why?”

“We are giraffes.”

“Good point.”

Off they went.

Across the lawn.

Past the sandpit.

Around the climbing frame.

The teachers followed cautiously.

At first everything seemed fine.

Then Barry spotted something.

A tree.

More specifically, a small ornamental tree near the fence.

Barry gasped.

“Food.”

Miss Patel frowned.

“No.”

Barry pointed.

“Leaves.”

“No.”

“Giraffes eat leaves.”

“Not those leaves.”

Barry considered this.

Then he whispered something to Marmaduke.

This was never encouraging.

Marmaduke’s eyes widened.

“Ohhhhh.”

The boys nodded.

Miss Patel hurried over.

“What are you two discussing?”

“Nothing.”

“We’re being giraffes.”

“We definitely aren’t planning anything.”

Those answers were significantly less reassuring than they seemed.

Five minutes later, disaster arrived.

Not a huge disaster.

Nobody was injured.

Nothing exploded.

No emergency services were required.

But it was definitely a disaster.

Barry decided the giraffes needed a watering hole.

The preschool water table seemed suitable.

Unfortunately, the water table was on the opposite side of the garden.

Unfortunately, Barry was still on stilts.

Unfortunately, Marmaduke was following him.

The journey began well.

Then Barry’s giraffe tail became tangled around one stilt.

He stumbled.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

The stilt clipped a bucket.

The bucket tipped.

The bucket rolled into the water table.

The water table splashed.

The splash hit Marmaduke.

Marmaduke squealed.

His stilt landed in a puddle.

His foot slipped.

He sat down abruptly in the wet grass.

There was a pause.

Everyone stared.

Marmaduke looked surprised.

Then he began laughing.

The other children began laughing.

Barry began laughing.

Soon the entire garden was laughing.

Even Miss Patel had to turn away briefly.

Not because she was angry.

Because she was trying not to laugh too.

Marmaduke stood up.

His giraffe costume was muddy.

His hair was muddy.

His face was muddy.

He looked like a giraffe that had survived a particularly difficult safari.

“I found the watering hole.”

The afternoon should have calmed down after that.

It did not.

Because Barry had an idea.

Ideas were Barry’s most dangerous feature.

He gathered several children together.

Marmaduke naturally joined immediately.

“What are we doing?” asked Marmaduke.

“We need a giraffe herd.”

“A herd?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Barry lowered his voice.

“We need to find the tallest thing.”

The children gasped.

This sounded important.

Within minutes a herd of tiny giraffes was marching around the playground.

Teachers watched nervously.

The herd inspected benches.

The herd inspected fences.

The herd inspected climbing equipment.

Eventually Barry stopped.

“There.”

He pointed.

The tallest object in sight.

The preschool shed.

The children stared.

Marmaduke nodded.

“That’s definitely tall.”

Barry folded his arms.

“A worthy giraffe.”

Miss Patel arrived just in time.

“A worthy WHAT?”

Barry pointed.

“The Alpha Giraffe.”

The shed sat silently.

Miss Patel rubbed her forehead.

Some jobs seemed easier than others.

By home time the children were exhausted.

Parents arrived.

Costumes were muddy.

Faces were painted.

Teachers looked slightly older than they had that morning.

Mrs Brand arrived to collect Barry.

“How was your day?”

Miss Patel smiled carefully.

“It was memorable.”

This was teacher language.

Parents learn to fear teacher language.

Barry bounced over.

“Mum! I was a giraffe!”

“I can see that.”

“I migrated.”

“Oh dear.”

“I found a watering hole.”

“That sounds worse.”

“Marmaduke fell in it.”

“Ah.”

“There was an Alpha Giraffe.”

Mrs Brand looked at Miss Patel.

Miss Patel nodded sadly.

“The shed.”

“Of course it was.”

Marmaduke’s mum arrived.

She surveyed the mud.

“What happened?”

Marmaduke beamed.

“We became nature.”

That evening Alfie returned home from school.

He found Barry wearing his giraffe costume while eating biscuits.

“How was World Giraffe Day?”

Barry stood proudly.

“A complete success.”

Alfie narrowed his eyes.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“What really happened?”

Barry told him everything.

The migration.

The watering hole.

The herd.

The Alpha Giraffe.

The muddy accident.

The vegetable walruses.

By the end, Alfie was staring into space.

“You did all that in one day?”

“Yes.”

Alfie looked exhausted.

Barry wasn’t even his responsibility.

Mr Brand arrived home shortly afterwards.

“How were the giraffes?”

Mrs Brand answered first.

“One child became muddy.”

“Which child?”

“Marmaduke.”

Mr Brand nodded.

“Because of Barry?”

“Obviously.”

Barry looked offended.

“It wasn’t entirely my fault.”

Everyone waited.

“Fine,” he admitted.

“It was mostly my fault.”

Alfie nearly dropped his drink.

Barry had admitted responsibility.

A historic occasion.

Possibly unprecedented.

Mrs Brand smiled.

“Well done.”

Barry grinned.

Then he thought for a moment.

“Mum?”

“Yes?”

“When is World Elephant Day?”

Mrs Brand froze.

Mr Brand froze.

Alfie froze.

Somewhere in London, although nobody could explain why, Miss Patel suddenly felt nervous.

Very nervous indeed.