Ziggy struck the empty field at dawn and stayed. That was the strange part. Other lightning bolts flashed and vanished, but Ziggy always left a mark, and never the same one twice. This morning, the mark was a small white building with a tidy porch and a wooden sign that read PRESIDENTIAL PETTING ZOO. Ziggy hovered above the roof, sparking softly. They had wanted this for a long time, though they could not say why a lightning bolt should want a petting zoo at all. The fence was already up. A gate hung open on new hinges. Ziggy drifted through the front pen and inspected the boards under their glow. The floor inside the barn was wide, dark planks, worn smooth in places, sturdy in others. Good enough to hold hooves. Ziggy tapped a plank with one forked tip. It held. Next came the bedding. Ziggy split into three quick arcs and dragged loose straw across the pen in golden armfuls. They spread it in an uneven layer, thick near the walls, thinner by the gate where the animals would step through. Then they hauled in the trough. It was heavy wood banded with iron, one side for grain, one side for water. Ziggy filled the grain side from a sack in the corner and touched the water side until it ran clear and cold. They worked without hurry. This was the part Ziggy had feared most, because Ziggy had never built anything before. They had only changed things. Grass into glass. Sand into stone. A tree into something no one had a name for. Setting up a pen for animals meant leaving the pen a pen. Ziggy watched the straw and waited for it to turn into something else. It stayed straw. A soft sound came from the gate. A sheep stood there, woolly and calm, looking at Ziggy the way sheep look at everything. Ziggy went still. The sheep stepped onto the straw, sniffed the trough, and began to eat. Nothing changed. The wood stayed wood. The grain stayed grain. The sheep stayed a sheep. Ziggy sparked once, quietly, in a feeling close to relief. By afternoon the pen was ready. Straw laid, trough full, floor swept, gate working. One animal inside, content. Ziggy rose above the roof and looked down at the finished enclosure. For the first time, a place they had touched looked exactly like what they had meant it to be. Then Ziggy noticed the second pen, and the third, and the long row of empty stalls behind the barn, each one waiting for a different animal. One sheep was easy. A whole zoo was not. Ziggy sparked again, brighter this time, and went to find the next tenant.