The One and Only Bob

by Katherine Applegate; Michael Grant

  Babies puking. Toddlers whining. Spouses nagging.

  Talk about a design flaw.

  change

  The park’s pretty big. Lots of twisty paths and fascinating smells. All the parts have names. There’s the African Aviary. The Outback. Penguin Cove. Lemur Land.

  It’s like puzzle pieces of the world—a little Africa here, a little Asia there.

  Dogs, you can find us pretty much everywhere. Our territory is Earth. As long as we’re hooked up with humans, that is.

  Along the shady paths, volunteer guides will answer your questions. They’ll tell you about how animals used to roam one part of the world or another until things changed.

  Things change.

  That’s one thing I’ve figured out. Don’t ever assume a little patch of the planet belongs to you.

  Things change. Boxes go flying.

  my inner wolf

  On our way, we always stop by the wolf habitat. Julia loves wolves. Probably because they remind her of me.

  You have to look hard, maybe squint a little, but if you try, you can catch a hint of my inner wolf.

  It’s in the eyes, mostly. Also in my distinguished profile.

  I dream I’m a wolf sometimes, and when I wake up, I’m panting and my fur’s on alert and I’m feeling Yeah, the world could hurt me, but I could hurt the world right back even harder. Like there’s a dangerous, hard part of me chained inside, struggling to go free and just, I dunno, get even.

  Then I go see what’s for breakfast.

  kimu

  There’s a gray wolf at the park who makes me a little jittery.

  Jittery, as in I sometimes worry he might like to eat me.

  His name is Kimu, and we struck up a conversation when a mutual acquaintance of ours, a mockingbird called Mitch, introduced us one day.

  Like Nutwit, Mitch likes to taunt me because I’m domesticated. Gives me a lot of grief about how free he is, soaring stringless over the whole town.

  “I’m not the only one who’s pampered,” I said one day. “I mean, look at Kimu. He’s not exactly running wild.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. And when I looked at Kimu’s I could kill you with one quick bite expression, I really regretted them.

  “In any case,” I said, moving the subject along, “I’ve lived wild. It ain’t a picnic for a dog.”

  “What was it like?” Kimu asked. He moved closer to the edge of his domain. He had a strange odor, intense and scary and a little bit intoxicating.

  “Well, I was just a pup,” I said. “Abandoned by the side of the highway.”

  Kimu was listening intently. “Must have been tough.”

  “All I could think of was food, water.” I didn’t like the catch in my voice. “Owl got me.”

  “Those guys are fierce,” Kimu said. “Can’t hear them coming.”

  “I know, right?” I relaxed a little.

  “I hate owls,” said Mitch. “Hate them with a passion. They eat birds, you know.”

  “So do wolves,” said Kimu, giving Mitch a meaningful look.

  “So you were . . . wild once?” I asked Kimu.

  “Never. Born and raised in captivity. Suzu, over there? She was. She’s told us stories that would curl your fur.”

  “Honestly, it’s nice to have a roof over my head. It’s tough out there, man. Really tough.”

  “I suppose,” said Kimu.

  I looked at him and, for the first time, wondered if I really did have any wolf in me. He was a majestic animal, with teeth that could shred a tree trunk.

  I am also majestic. But more portable. With teeth that could mangle a pencil with enough time and effort.

  “Hey, Bob,” Mitch said, “do dogs howl the way wolves do?”

  “Of course we do.”

  “So let’s hear something. A duet maybe.” He fluttered his wings, revealing startling patches of white. “Do you know ‘Talk to the Animals’? They play that on the carousel.”

  “Go away, Mitch,” said Kimu, with just the right amount of menace in his voice.

  “C’mon. Just a little howling. Pretend there’s a moon. Pretend you’re free. Pretend—”

  Kimu growled, and so did I. His was pretty impressive. Guttural, deep. It spoke of death and dismemberment and all kinds of unpleasant bird nightmares.

  I growled too. It spoke of . . . me being mildly peeved.

  Still, Mitch got the message. He disappeared, a blur of wings.

  “Actually, I’ve never howled at the moon,” I admitted.

  “Me, neither,” said Kimu. “I’d feel kind of silly, doing it here.”

  enrichment

  We’re almost to my favorite spot in the park.

  The great thing for me is that one corner of Gorilla World juts up against Elephant Odyssey, the area where Ruby lives. A low stone wall separates the two spaces, and there’s a moat on the elephant side. The sections connect like two slices of pie, and my secret spot is right at the center, where I can hang out with my crew. Ivan and Ruby both have access to indoor habitats, which is great when the weather isn’t cooperating.

  The indoor space for gorillas ain’t bad. I call it the “gorilla villa.” It has tons of ropes and hammocks and branches to climb. Humans watch through a thick wall of glass while the young gorillas run around like kids at recess.

  But whenever Julia and I visit, we can almost always find Ivan and Ruby outside.

  We trudge up a little rise, though it isn’t much of a hill. We live in a pretty flat part of the world. From there I can see just about everything: the park, the parking lot, the creek. Far beyond that, every now and then, I can even catch a glimpse of the ocean.

  My secret place is a little hard to get to, right near the keepers’ shed, nicely hidden by trees and bushes. Under a big magnolia tree there’s a bench shaped like a gorilla holding out his arms. Julia likes to sit there and draw.

  Sometimes she does her homework, which smells like frustration with a hint of eraser.

  Whenever I visit, Julia props me up on the stone wall that separates Ruby’s world from Ivan’s. Visitors can’t see me, and the keepers pretend not to see me.

  If they caught any other dog there, he’d be out in a heartbeat. But Ivan and Ruby and I have a history. I make them happy.

  I’m what you might call “enrichment.”

  At the park, they try to keep the animals engaged with surprises and challenges and changes to their environment. That’s what enrichment is all about. The gorillas get watermelons to demolish and boxes to hide in and markers for drawing. The elephants get sprinklers and flavored water and elephant-sized rubber balls.

  Not exactly like a day in the real jungle, of course. But the keepers try as hard as they can to make life interesting.

  For Ivan and Ruby, I’m the ultimate enrichment.

  I’m their best pal.

  walls and bad guys

  Julia takes me out of her backpack and I settle onto the wide stone wall. It’s my fave place on the planet ’cause it means I can see Ivan and Ruby. But I also kinda hate it.

  Walls will do that to you.

  Ivan, being Ivan, is a mellow kinda guy. Takes the good with the bad, only gets angry when he really needs to. When I complain about the walls at the park, he says, “Walls keep the animals in. But they also keep the bad guys out.”

  Of course, gorillas don’t have a whole lot of bad guys to deal with. Elephants either. So humans step in to fill the void.

  Dogs? Sometimes it feels like we have enemies galore.

  Everyone wants a piece of us. Humans treat us badly. Cars really have it in for us. We even get eaten by coyotes, which is kinda like having your cousin invite you over for dinner, then inform you you’re the main course.

  Although I’d probably just be the appetizer.

  Anyways. After those twenty-seven years stuck in a mall, Ivan is one of those “glass half full” kinda guys when it comes to the walls surrounding him. Glad to be with others of his own
kind. Cared for by smart and loving humans.

  I’m more of a “water bowl of power half empty” kinda guy.

  Every time I leave Ivan and Ruby, I am painfully aware that I can leave. Ivan’s address is “Gorilla World.” Ruby’s is “Elephant Odyssey.”

  And me? I guess my address is the same as Julia and George and Sara’s. 1249 Hinman Avenue.

  I mean, of course it is. I’ve been living there a whole year now.

  It is.

  And yet, sometimes I still wake up at night and think, Gotta find shelter, gotta find safety, gotta find somewhere to belong.

  Guess I don’t want to get too comfortable.

  gift

  Once I’m in my spot, I don’t have to do a thing, because Ivan and Ruby always know when I’m there.

  Gorillas and elephants have great schnozzes, too.

  Also, I pride myself on staying extra fragrant.

  It’s a gift.

  ivan

  Ivan gets to me first.

  “Bob!” He knuckle walks up the hill—knuckle runs, actually—and he looks as glad to see me as I am to see him.

  It seems like I’ve known Ivan forever. And yet every single time I see him I feel kinda awed. He’s so powerful. So huge. Like this magnificent silver mountain that just happens to be my best buddy.

  “Hi, Ivan!” Julia calls, waving. He cocks his head and makes a soft belch, which is gorilla for I’m happy.

  Maya calls out to Julia from the door to the gorillas’ indoor space. Maya’s a zoologist, which is a hoity-toity way of saying she has a thing for animals.

  It was Maya, and a lot of other good folks, who helped get Ivan and the rest of the mall animals moved to better places.

  Julia unhooks my string and gives me a stern look. “No funny business, you,” she says, and then she kisses me on the head. “And stay out of sight.”

  Ivan sidles up as close to the stone wall as he can get. “I was worried you wouldn’t come today,” he says. “Weather and all.”

  “Another hurricane,” I say. “It’s freaking everybody out.” Above me, magnolia branches sway. Leaves rustle and shiver. Even the trees seem uneasy.

  “What’s new?” Ivan asks. He lies back on the grass and wriggles contentedly. Scratching an itch, no doubt.

  “Not much. Had a weird dream last night.” I pause. “You were in it, and me and Ruby, and Stella, too.”

  Ivan gazes at the darkening sky. “Stella,” he says. “Now there was a great friend. Classiest elephant you’ll ever hope to meet.”

  “The best,” I agree. “I miss the old gal.”

  We fall silent. “All good with you?” I ask after a moment. No point in dwelling on sad stuff. Or bad dreams.

  “Kinyani’s getting on my nerves a bit. ‘Ivan, do this. Ivan, do that.’ But she means well.”

  Kinyani is Ivan’s lady friend. Girlfriend? I’ve never been sure what they call it in gorilla.

  Kinyani doesn’t really approve of me. She thinks I’m a bad influence on Ivan.

  I like to think she’s right.

  Ivan is four hundred pounds of pure power. But Kinyani is four hundred times scarier. Trust me. I’ve seen her in a bad mood. I’ve also seen her teeth. Make mine look like toothpicks.

  Ivan and Kinyani don’t have kids, but there are a bunch of baby and juvenile gorillas hanging around. They call him “Uncle Ivan,” and he puts up with their antics.

  Ivan’s always been a good sport.

  If I had a gorilla toddler hanging off me, I’d be tempted to use my toothpick teeth.

  marriage

  Ivan and Kinyani are a lot like George and Sara, as far as I can tell.

  They grumble. They cuddle.

  They help each other. They tease each other.

  Sometimes it looks pretty nice. Still and all, when I smell love, I almost always smell worry. Seems like they’re tangled together so tightly they’ll never unravel.

  There’s a reason I avoid all that mushy stuff.

  One big difference I have noticed between the two couples: Ivan and Kinyani enjoy eating bugs off each other.

  George and Sara, not so much.

  tiny but tough

  Ivan always seems like nothing scares him. (Not even Kinyani, who scares the heck outa me.)

  On the outside, I suppose that’s how I look, too. Tiny but tough.

  But inside? Well. Sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I can’t find that guy to save my life.

  It’s like he’s cowering in some corner of my heart.

  I hate it when that happens. I hate that I’m not the guy my friends think I am. The guy the world expects.

  I keep waiting for things to go bad on me. Worrying that my nice, tidy little dog life will blow up in my face.

  I think George is a worrier, too. He’ll get up in the middle of the night and head to the kitchen sometimes, his old slippers scuffing on the wooden floor. I always hear him. Always join him.

  When he opens the fridge, the light spills out like maple syrup on a hot pancake. Wonderful scents drift my way. Leftover meat loaf. Stinky cheese. Expired yogurt that someone might as well eat, and it seems like the dog is the safest bet.

  The smells rain around me, and yeah, my tongue starts hanging out, and I nudge George’s pj’ed leg. “You can’t sleep either, huh?” he’ll say. Or maybe: “I can’t tell if you have insomnia or just a very acute sense of smell.”

  Both, actually.

  I wait. He usually makes himself a PB&J with banana, which is good with me, because the crusts are where you really get that fun chew factor going.

  Now and then, after we eat, we sit on the back porch and George scratches my ears. Especially my right ear. It’s my favorite.

  I understand his worry, I think. George works so hard. His wife was really sick for a long time. And he loves his daughter so, so much.

  Sometimes when Julia climbs on the school bus, I’ll watch George watching her. All that caring and concern is painful to smell. Especially the briny scent of the stray tear he’ll flick aside with the back of his hand like sea spray.

  More than once, George and I have dozed off together.

  That’s the best kind of snooze, if you ask me. Good, warm, safe-in-someone’s-arms sleep.

  not talking

  Often when I’m with Ivan, we don’t even bother talking.

  We just look out at his domain, at the green grass and the crazy babies and the swaggering juveniles and the hardworking females, and we think of nothing and everything.

  When you’ve been through the worst with someone, you appreciate the best.

  That’s why sometimes, when he says, “Hey, Bob,” it’s enough for me to say, “Hey, Ivan,” and then we just listen to the palm trees rustle and watch the saw grass sway.

  brave

  Once, when we were still at the mall, I told Ivan how brave I thought he was. The way he put up with everything that had happened to him and never stopped being a good guy.

  Ivan just looked at me. Cocked that big ol’ head of his. Nodded a bit.

  “That’s not brave, Bob,” he finally said. “That’s just knowing what I can’t change.”

  “I call it brave,” I said. “I call it crazy brave.”

  Ivan held a browning banana up to the light. Like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his long gorilla life.

  I wondered whether he was going to eat it or draw it. You never knew with Ivan.

  “Seems to me there are lots of ways to be brave, Bob,” he said.

  A tiny mouse, name of Eek, skittered across his cage floor. “Hey, Eek,” said Ivan.

  “Just checking for crumbs,” she said nervously, because she always sounded nervous.

  “Dibs on all leftovers,” I reminded her.

  She looked so terrified that I relented. “Over there, behind the tire. Old carrot top.”

  “Respect, Bob,” she said, scampering off.

  “Take a small creature like Eek,” said Ivan. He scratched his chin with the end
of the banana. He did that when he was in a philosophical mood. “Maybe brave for a mouse is different from brave for me or brave for you.”

  He looked at me fondly. “You’re the bravest dog I know, pal.”

  “I ain’t brave.” I chewed on my tail, avoiding his gaze.

  “You are Bob, untamed and undaunted,” said Ivan, and he chomped off a hunk of banana. He offered the rest to me, but I shook my head. I wasn’t feeling hungry.

  Also, it was mostly just peel.

  “That’s just my shtick. My routine.” I hesitated. “I mean, sure, I’m tough, compared to, say, Eek. But that’s setting the bar pretty low.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself sometimes, Bob.”

  I met his eyes. He has these dark brown, deep-set eyes, really kind ones. Eyes that make you wanna admit things. Confess to your failures.

  “Once when I was little. Just a pup. I did something . . .”

  Ivan waited patiently. Ivan is the king of patience.

  I felt myself dashing into a dead-end tunnel I couldn’t escape. I didn’t want to go there. Not even with Ivan.

  “Never mind.” I yawned. I do that when I’m anxious. “I’m rambling.”

  “Bob?” Ivan said. “You okay?”

  “You know me, Ivan. I’m always okay. Always.”

  I slipped away before he could ask me anything more.

  ruby

  “Uncle Bob!”

  Ruby races over—galomph, galomph—across the broad field that’s part of the elephant domain. She’s so cute when she runs, like she’s determined not to trip on her trunk.

  Ruby adores me. I make her laugh, I read the room, I lighten the mood.

  I gotta admit, I am kind of adorable.

  When I’m with Ivan, I think: Pal, we’ve been through a lot, you and me. We are survivors.