I went to the animal fair, the birds and the beasts were there. The big baboon, by the light of the moon, was combing his auburn hair. The monkey, he got drunk — and fell on the elephant’s trunk. The elephant sneezed and fell on his knees and what became of the monk, the monk, the monk. I loved that song when I was little — and I still love going to the fair. This past week, I learned about Texas longhorn cattle, enjoyed the quirky personalities of goats and wandered through multiple barns of sheep, rabbits and pigs. I looked at quilts, photography, vegetables and flowers on display. I entered a contest to guess the weight of an enormous pumpkin and gawked at an exhibit of see-through bee hives. I stood on a vibrating platform that shook me all the way down to my gizzard and promised to cure any ailments. I saw plants that grew without dirt, unusual toys, pans that guaranteed good meals, roof gutter protectors, mixers, whippers and blenders. I had my annual fix of curly fries and got dizzy just watching the round-and-round carnival rides that I used to love. If I travelled from fair to fair, this could be my everyday existence. I always wanted to be a carnie.