Southern Ontario is home to wild, free-roaming giraffes.

You can be forgiven for not knowing. I didn’t know myself until a few weeks ago, and I’ve lived here all my life.

It was the dandelions that tipped me off. The first day their yellow heads started coming up and looking for the sun, Bea was in love. She loves flowers of all kinds (fleurs as she calls them, because flowers are too fabulous for English), and I think she genuinely loves weeds the best.

The way home from her bus stop in the afternoon has plenty of dandelions to pick from, and she loves picking them. At first, it was bouquets for me, which were promptly enthroned in an old baby bottle-turned-vase on the kitchen island. And then, one day, she got off the bus and told me we needed dandelions for a different reason.

The giraffes.

It should be noted that these are not ordinary giraffes. You’re probably thinking of the two-syllable giraffes, the kind you see in zoos and nature documentaries. Not these ones.

These are giraffes.

Okay, they look the same. But if you were to talk to Bea, you’d realize that her giraffes sound more like giraffez. It’s a three-syllable word, and it’s an important distinction, because these giraffes (three-syllables!) only live in southern Ontario.

In fact, they might only live in our neighbourhood.

This was what Bea told me on the way home as we gathered a sizeable bunch of dandelions. The giraffes live quite close by to our house, and it turns out, they are very hungry creatures. They told Bea they like to eat dandelions, so naturally, she thought she’d bring them some.

At home, we put out our dandelions on the garden wall, laid out neatly like a salad. Bea explained that the giraffes are quite shy and probably wouldn’t come and have a snack if we stood there, so we decided it would be better to go in the house. Perhaps, to give the giraffes plenty of privacy, we could even put on an episode of Doc McStuffins and really not pay attention to the front yard.

Twenty minutes later, Doc was busy fixing toys on the tv and I was busy making dinner in the kitchen. No one was looking out the front windows. We had dinner, the kids had baths, got tucked into bed, went to sleep for the night.

The next morning, the dandelions were gone. Bea went out the door to go to her bus stop and the garden wall was empty, no trace of the dandelions left behind. Those giraffes sure were hungry. We decided we’d have to get some more dandelions for them on the way home again. And we did.

The dandelions are fading now. Their yellow heads have gone puffy and white, and Bea is more interested in making wishes and blowing dandelion seeds than leaving snacks for the giraffes.

But I haven’t forgotten. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget how wonderful it is to see through the eyes of a four-year-old, and to have my world filled not with weeds, but with fleurs and wild, three-syllable giraffes.