BABY GOATS! And other childhood traumas.

The fam and I would make annual pilgrimages to the Berkshires in Western Massachusetts each summer to spend time with my grandma and great aunt, who spent summers in the cooler climates.

I loved the lake that was there _ and was particularly fond of the massive body-sized alligator raft that was perfect for floating. There were stars and artisans, trips to Tanglewood to see The Boston Symphony Orchestra.

But by far my most vivid memory was a trip to a nearby petting zoo. (For background, you need to know that I've ALWAYS been obsessed with animals. The smaller and fuzzier the better. Seriously. Cuteoverload is like my version of Prozac. Another key bit of information here is that as a child, my de rigeur ensemble involved saddle shoes, knee socks and pigtails tied in matching satin ribbons.)

So here I am _ a pint-sized Noodles, decked out in my summer finery _ wearing a jumper, saddle shoes and bright red satin ribbons in my pig tails. As part of the petting zoo experience, you could bottle feed baby animals. This would pretty much be like the modern day equivalent of setting me free in Lincoln Park with a $10,000 American Express gift card.

Anyway, I picked my goat (who was, if I remember correctly, black and white) and began the bottle feeding process.

The problem, of course, occurred when said goat realized that the ribbons on my head were way more exciting than the bottle in my hand and decided to nibble, then comp, then latch on to my pigtail.

Hysteria ensued as a crazed Noodles screamed and hollered and wiggled, trying to free my scalp from the jaws of the goat. Luckily, my parents managed to capture a picture of the hilarity while running to my rescue.

Anyone else got a fun childhood trauma to share?