Anyone who knows me well knows I love pygmy hippos. Up until a few weeks ago, it was somewhat of a novelty answer when the question of my favourite animal came up.

That is, until the rest of the world woke up to the unique cuteness of the luminescent blubber, the tiny cylindrical ears poking out perpendicular to the head, the great orb-like black eyes and the pink underbelly, since videos of Moo Deng went viral.

Millions now appreciate the magnificence that is a baby pygmy hippo, but I have been admiring the species for over 15 years.

For me it all began in late 2008 – it was a different time, a different baby pygmy hippo.

I was 11 years old and the evening news was on in the background as I was finishing off homework, it would have been the last segment.

Her name was Monifa and she was the first pygmy hippopotamus born at Sydney’s Taronga zoo in 23 years. It was love at first sight.

Even though I was at an age when I knew it was impossible, I still (half) jokingly begged my parents during dinner for a pygmy hippo.

The next morning, waiting on the breakfast table for me, was a clipping of Monifa from the morning papers my dad had cut for me, with a note acknowledging it was in lieu of the actual baby hippo requested.

It would be another five years before I got to have a three-dimensional encounter with Monifa.

I had applied for year-10 work experience at Taronga zoo a year in advance and was delighted to find out I had been assigned to primates and ungulates – the division pygmy hippos fell under.

When the keeper introduced me to the pygmy hippo enclosure, she allowed me to rub Monifa’s body and discover the way the tiny pellets of her sweat lather up to become a natural sunscreen.

I got to cut up Monifa’s food, sweep her enclosure, rake up the leaves and her droppings. It was a privilege.

If I am at a loose end on my birthday, I still often choose a day at Taronga and say hello to the pygmy hippos.

I am glad to see the rest of the world feeling the awe that I have felt for the pygmy hippos. I don’t know if it will last – viral moments, like summer romances, tend to fade – but I know my devotion to the pygmy hippo will endure.