It’s a magical time of year on social media, all cherry blossom and wisteria. My Instagram account – 50% animals and 50% adverts for bad trousers – is a serotonin-saturated riot of frolicking baby goats, sproinging lambs and fluffy chicks. Scrolling as I neck antihistamines, I’m high on spring and becoming inter-species broody.
“Let’s get an emu!” I say expansively to my husband, a man who is always willing to entertain a grand plan. Last year, he measured our garden before regretfully concluding we couldn’t accommodate a capybara after I found out they can be legally kept in the UK.
