The World of Poo

chap over in the Street of Cunning Artificers made it for me. In return I go down there every week or so and get rid of all of the pigeons on his skylight.’ 1
     
    ‘I’d better go down to breakfast; Grand-mama is taking me to the menagerie today. But I hope I’ll see you again,’ said Geoffrey, crawling back through the window. ‘If I can get back to the sweet shop I’ll bring you some more toffee.’
    ‘Thank you, but the old grinding teeth are not what they were,’ replied the gargoyle. ‘Cake is a favourite, though, especially fruit cake, but not with nuts, they give me the tweaks.’
    ‘There’s lots of cake here,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I’ll put some out for you tonight if I can.’

    After breakfast, Geoffrey and Grand-mama set out for the Palace.
    ‘I think you should find this very interesting,’ said Grand-mama. ‘I’m sorry we can’t take Widdler with us, but they don’t allow dogs where we’re going.’
    Geoffrey knew it would be somewhere important because Grand-mama was wearing a large hat that looked like the top of a big boat and Lily had pressed his trousers. After much muttering about the state of them, she’d also polished his shoes.
    They travelled by coach up Park Lane, across the Isle of Gods and over the Brass Bridge. Geoffrey saw several gargoyles perched up high on the buildings and he leaned out of the window to wave at them.
    ‘A gargoyle came to visit me this morning, Grand-mama,’ he said, pulling his head back in the coach. ‘He was very friendly and I’ve promised him some cake.’
    ‘Do be very careful, Geoffrey. No wandering around on the roof looking for gargoyle poo; I know that’s what you’re really after.’
    The coach pulled up and they entered the Palace grounds by a small side gate. There was a pleasant stroll along a narrow path until they came to a small and mysterious studded door. Without any hesitation Grand-mama gave the end of the bell-pull, which was in the shape of a snake, a tug. Geoffrey moved quickly behind her, just in case. The door creaked open to reveal a short man with a very long beard and a flat-peaked cap. He wore tall rubber boots a bit like the ones that Geoffrey had for rainy days, but these were altogether more substantial, the sort of boot that laughed in the face of (or, come to that, the rear of) any animal’s nervous activity.
     
    The beard, which seemed to have a life of its own, enquired politely as to who they were and what their business was. Grand-mama produced a small card from her pocket. ‘We are here at the personal invitation of Lord Vetinari.’ The keeper stood to attention, saluted, and a large smile broke the crust between the moustache and beard.

    ‘Good morning, ma’am. My name is Pontoon, with an emphasis on the “oon”, and I have the privilege of being his lordship’s head keeper. Please do come in, we have been expecting you. What would you like to see first, young man? The largest animal we have here is the Hermit Elephant from Howondaland, and the smallest is the Llamedos Swimming Shrew. We’ve got Acrobatic Meerkats, Counting Camels, a Ring-maned Lion, a Reciprocating Ocelot – be very careful there – and Dancing Bears, to name but a few.’
    ‘I would very much like to see the elephants first, please,’ said Geoffrey.
    The old man tapped a finger to his nose and, in the tone of a connoisseur, said, ‘Very wise choice, young man, everyone should see the elephants.’
    As they walked towards a large enclosure Geoffrey started to explain to the keeper about his poo museum. ‘I’d really like to collect some poo from all of your animals. I’ve even brought my own bucket,’ he added.
    Mister Pontoon scratched his beard, causing a number of unidentified objects to fall out. ‘Well, young man, that is a rare and unusual hobby, but his lordship did say that I was to help you in every way. Your Grand-mama must be a very influential lady. But it wouldn’t be safe for you to go in their cages with your bucket and spade. Besides, all of the poo would get a bit mixed up in just one bucket and you would end up with what we in the industry call miscellaneous poo, and you don’t want that.
    ‘I’ll ask young Gus – he’s the junior assistant keeper – to get the wheelbarrow out. It’ll be good experience for him.’
    He whistled sharply and a boy of about fourteen, with a shock of straw-coloured hair on which was perched, back to front, an old keeper’s hat, emerged from a shed pushing