Personal Narrative On A Wallaby

I am not your average kid. I may seem like it at first but I’m not. One instance is my last day at zoo camp. As me, my brother Zech, an average height eleven-year-old, my cousin Nate, an average height nine-year-old, and my cousin Cole, a short six-year-old, approached the pool, I continued cringing (I hate public pools, they’re like 95% urine) but going none-the-less. Nate noticed I was uncomfortable and asked me why, I replied “we’re going to be swimming in urine.” When we reached the pool I, not so eagerly, hopped in. I examined the pool area, there was a shallow end where the younger kids played, a deep end where my age group played, a place where the teachers swam, a place to lounge, a bar, everything was normal when out of the corner of my eye I noticed a wallaby.

Everything was normal except for the wallaby. When the camp leader asked if we wanted to hold the wallaby, my oldest cousin was the first one to ask. Once he grabbed the wallaby it was calm and sweet and I really, really, really wanted to hold it. I asked its owner if I could, she was around thirty years old and had on a visor. She said yes, I was overjoyed, but at the same time scared out of my mind because I really didn’t want to drop it on the concrete. A random girl that had it handed it to me in a bag that was open on the top and had a cute floral print. When I grabbed it, it was so cute, it felt just like a dog. I was cringing until it looked up at me and I relaxed, this however was a