The One and Only Bob

by Katherine Applegate; Michael Grant

  I know there’s another way to cross the creek, of sorts, downstream a bit. An old pedestrian bridge made of wood and metal and rope. No one uses it anymore.

  No one with any sense.

  When I reach it, the little bridge is swaying like a cradle. It’s blocked off by a rusty metal gate to keep people from using it, but I can easily squeeze through the bars.

  I run halfway across, lose my footing, run some more.

  Gulp. What am I doing?

  A fresh gust pushes the bridge with such force that I slip. Half my body is dangling off the edge. I dig my claws into the wet wooden slats, and oh am I glad my nails are long and sharp because I fight off Sara’s clippers whenever I can.

  Pulling, pulling, pulling—man, I wish I hadn’t eaten so much cheese over the years—and then umpph, one last effort and I’m back on the bridge.

  It feels good, so good, to return to that little stretch of swinging slats. I want to live. Really I do.

  I don’t care about the puppy anymore.

  I just don’t want to die this way, not like this.

  The fear’s in my throat, my heart, my gut. I’ve gotta get off this rickety bridge, get back to Ivan and Ruby, back to my wonderful, Bob-smelling bed.

  I’m not a hero, never have been, never will be.

  I can live with that, ’cause at least I’ll be alive.

  I turn, moving snail-slow because the stupid bridge just won’t stay put, crawling on my belly so I won’t lose my footing again.

  Almost to the end, I glance back, like a fool.

  Just in time to see the car with the puppy lurch loose from its mooring in the tree, swirling into the middle of the creek like a toy boat in a bathtub.

  The puppy isn’t howling or anything. He’s just lying on his belly, same as me, waiting.

  What a nincompoop, I think yet again, and I’m honestly not sure whether I mean him or me.

  hero

  I will not lie. I am not thinking, Oh yay, now I get to be a hero.

  Nope.

  I’m thinking, You have got to be kidding me! Just a few more seconds and I woulda been outa here.

  I may or may not use a few other choice words. Way worse than anything that jay came up with.

  Then I run back to the middle of the bridge and wait a split second, maybe two, maybe three, and I jump.

  cartoons

  And I ain’t proud of this, but halfway down I remember that I really, really, really don’t like riding in cars.

  I’m sort of dog paddling the air, thinking I can slow things down—maybe even reverse direction—like Wile E. Coyote in those old cartoons.

  Cartoons are ridiculous for a reason.

  not a movie

  So in a movie, I’d land all graceful and tough and grab that little guy.

  But this isn’t a movie.

  I kinda land on top of him. Legs splayed like a bug on a windshield.

  Not enough to smush him.

  But definitely enough to annoy him.

  The car spins, dips, rights itself.

  “Hi,” I say. “I’m your uncle Bob.”

  “If you’re my uncle, why are you trying to kill me?” he asks.

  Pup has a mouth on him, for being so tiny.

  “I’m saving you, dude.” I grab his scruff with my teeth.

  “Ouch,” he says.

  The car seesaws. I scrabble, clawing at the slick skin of the roof. My nails make a horrible scraping sound.

  It’s like trying to hug a whale.

  “Can you swim?” I ask out of the side of my mouth. It’s hard to talk with a puppy between your teeth.

  “No. Can you?”

  “Yes. But I suspect the degree of difficulty will go up considerably with a puppy in my mouth.”

  The car lists, recovers, lopes along like a jackrabbit in tall grass. My claws make tracks in the paint.

  “How’d you get on top of the car?” I ask.

  “Wasn’t easy. Branch broke through one of the windows. I climbed out that way.”

  “Impressive.”

  “By the way,” says the puppy, “I think we may be sinking.”

  “No kidding, Sherlock.” I don’t mean to sound unkind. I’m a bit stressed.

  “I don’t have a name, actually.”

  “How about Rowdy?” I suggest. “I hear it’s available.”

  “Sure, what the heck? So what’s your plan?”

  “You tell me,” I say. “What’d you think was going to happen?”

  “I figured someone would come along and save me. Some human, maybe.”

  “Dog’s best friend?” I say.

  “If you say so.”

  Another lurch. We’re going down.

  “Hang on, pup,” I say. “Man’s best friend is gonna save you instead.”

  do not let go

  The water’s cold, so cold it burns. I paddle frantically. Nothing happens. It’s like pawing air.

  I keep my teeth tight on Rowdy. Do not let go. Do not let go, I tell myself, but the water’s churning into my nose and throat, and if I cough, he’ll be a goner.

  We hit something hard and metal straight on. I’m underwater, submerged, as bits and pieces of the world rush past.

  It’s like the tornado, only wetter.

  I dig at the darkness. I think of all the things I’ll miss when I’m dead.

  Cheese tops the list.

  Well, okay, maybe Ivan and Ruby and Julia and George and Sara top the list.

  But then totally cheese.

  My back paws graze the bottom. My nose burns. My lungs burn. Everything burns.

  I have to cough.

  I can’t cough.

  Mustering all my strength, I struggle to the surface for a moment, fighting the water with my paws.

  Rowdy is dead weight in my mouth.

  I hit bottom again, and this time I use it like a springboard, lurching toward the edge of the water, toward solid land, toward grass and dirt and trees and bushes and—

  A whoosh of fur and pain, oh man, the pain, someone grabbing my paw, losing it, teeth, sharp, sharp teeth, the smell, even with my messed-up nose, of wildness and danger.

  Something grabs my scruff, yanks, pulls me to safety.

  Back to the world. Back from the brink.

  kimu again

  Kimu has me.

  He drops me to the mud. His teeth smell of blood. My blood.

  I drop Rowdy. My teeth smell of blood, too.

  For a long time, no words come, just panting, coughing, panting some more.

  Nothing from the puppy. I shove him with my paw, nudge him with my nose.

  Nothing.

  I look at Kimu, his fur spiked, his eyes wild, different, unknowable.

  “I guess they didn’t shoot you?” I say.

  “They tried,” he says, eyes on the puppy.

  “Thank you for . . .” I trail off.

  He glances at me. “Didn’t do it for you.” A pause. “Did it for me.”

  With his right front paw, he claws at the puppy. At Rowdy.

  “Hey,” I say without really thinking. Or registering the size of his paw. Or realizing that he’s drooling, just a little.

  “He, uh.” I put my paw, my puny pathetic loser paw, on Rowdy too. “He’s my . . . my nephew, and well, I—”

  “Didn’t take you for the sentimental sort, Bob.”

  “I’m not. Just, you know how it is.”

  “No, actually, I don’t know. I’m a wild animal. Not a pet.”

  “Still.” I clear my throat and remind myself that rolling over and peeing myself is not an acceptable option. “Still and all, he’s scrawny, might even be dead, who knows? You got better breakfasts at the park.”

  I recognize all too well the look he gives me. The look of sadness and loss and anger, the look of someone who will never forgive the world.

  He’s running with the puppy dangling from his jaws before I even know what’s happened.

  how

  I don’t know how I
do it.

  If I did know, maybe I could understand that other part of me. The wolf part.

  I run, faster than I’ve ever run.

  I growl, louder than I’ve ever growled.

  I grab Kimu’s throat. I clamp down.

  I do not let go.

  gone

  He can kill me. With a sidelong glance and a half-hearted bite, he can kill me.

  I know that.

  But he doesn’t.

  He drops the puppy.

  He shakes me off and pulls free.

  He pauses. Looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.

  He gazes at the sky, thick with clouds. No moon. Barely any sun.

  He raises his head.

  His howl is long and sad and beautiful.

  He runs.

  first aid

  Rowdy still isn’t moving.

  I don’t know what else to do.

  So I bite the heck outa his tail.

  Perks the little guy right up.

  the truth

  It hits me then. I’m so tired. So banged up. I can’t go on, even if I want to.

  I carry Rowdy to a sheltering tree. Cuddle him close. Give him a couple licks for good measure.

  “Now what?” he asks.

  “Now,” I say, “we wait.”

  “For what?”

  “For humans,” I answer. “For help.”

  “Are you sure they’ll come?”

  I think for a moment.

  I remember all the people I’ve seen today, the police and rescue workers, the park employees, the staff at the shelter, the folks at the doughnut shop opening their door to a strange collection of animals. I remember George running to get Julia, and Julia trying to get me, and Sara struggling to find them both.

  I breathe in the sweet smell of puppy. It’s important to tell the truth.

  “I’m sure,” I say.

  forever

  The eye of the hurricane passes. The storm rages on.

  It feels like a year. Like nine years, even.

  It feels like forever.

  rescue

  When I hear Julia calling my name through the open window of her parents’ car, I pick up Rowdy and dash over like it’s my favorite place on this lonely ball called Earth.

  No clickers necessary.

  No treats required.

  I fly my drool flag all the way home.

  Four

  aftermath

  We’ve lost ten park residents total. Eight deaths, plus two still missing. No humans died, but there were some injuries.

  They’ve already started rebuilding. It’s funny the way people go right back at it after a tragedy. Everyone comes together. Lots of talk about community and kumbaya, blahblahblah.

  They’re a resilient species, I’ll give them that.

  It’s been three weeks, and we still don’t have Kimu back. Suzu either. There’ve been some sightings, nothing for sure.

  I worry they can’t last long. Wolves aren’t native to this part of the world.

  I like to think they’re together, at least.

  Everybody else is back, with makeshift domains. Nobody’s complaining, though.

  In spite of all the construction, Julia’s been taking me to see Ivan and Ruby whenever she can.

  Today Ivan leans on the temporary fence separating him from the elephants. Maya made him a medal for valor out of a watermelon and cucumbers. He’s eaten most of it.

  “It’s pretty great almost everybody we saved from the shelter ended up with a home,” says Ivan. “Even that annoying bunny.”

  “Almost everyone,” I remind him.

  “I’m so sorry about Boss,” he says in his gentle way.

  From what we can tell, Boss never went into the doughnut shop. She slipped away, and no one knows what happened to her.

  I try not to feel hurt. But I had this silly fantasy about me and her and Rowdy all hanging out together like a family.

  And I so wanted her to know what it’s like to have a warm bed and a full bowl and a good ear scratch whenever you need it.

  I wanted her to know she deserves that as much as any dog.

  I guess she’d lived life too long on her own terms. Or maybe she was afraid to get her hopes up. To trust.

  I understand. Been there, done that.

  But sometimes humans don’t let you down. Sometimes they even come to the rescue.

  riddle

  “Uncle Bob!” Ruby calls, galloping over.

  She seems more confident these days. A little more grown up. Stella would be proud. I know I am.

  “Want to hear my new riddle?”

  “Absolutely I do.”

  Ruby flaps her ears. She does that when she gets excited. “What has an eye but cannot see?”

  “I am perplexed, Ruby. Pondering and puzzled.”

  “A hurricane!” she exclaims.

  “Good one, Ruby. First-rate.”

  I look at Ivan. We smile at each other. We don’t need to say a thing.

  It’s enough to listen to the palm trees rustle and watch the saw grass sway.

  working on it

  On the way home, we pass the shelter. It’s been patched up pretty well, looks like. And they’re back in business.

  I hear the usual yelps and howls and hisses and meows, and like always, I feel lousy. I plop down on the sidewalk, and Julia stops walking.

  “What’s going on, Bob?” she asks.

  I listen, like I always do, for her bark. That bark.

  Nope. Nothing.

  I wish Rowdy were here to distract me. But he’s still learning how to walk on a tug-of-war string.

  He’s a pretty swell pup, even if he is a little feisty. I’m surprised how much I like having him around the house.

  It’s weird. I feel responsible for the little guy. Sorta like he’s become my numero uno.

  Julia bends down and strokes my head. I wag my tail a bit, slowly stand. I think of poor old Droolius stuck in that backyard, day and night. I think of Boss, roaming the streets. I think of my siblings, the dark night, the box, the highway.

  I’m trying hard to find the forgiveness that seems to come so naturally to other dogs. Maybe that’s what Boss was getting at. Maybe it’s easier to forgive others once you’ve learned how to forgive yourself.

  I’m working on it. It’s like a bone. Sometimes you have to chew for a long time before you make any progress.

  snickers, again

  Once we’re home, I head for the couch. I’m snoozing peacefully with Rowdy when a smell, a doozy of a smell, assaults my schnozz, which is finally back to working order.

  It’s her.

  Snickers is back.

  She’s been gone for a while. After the hurricane, they had to do some repairs to Mack’s house. Not sure where Snickers has been staying, but that’s definitely her I smell, no doubt about it.

  I dive under the couch, but not before Nutwit appears at the front window. “Oh, Bobbo!” he calls. “Someone’s looking for you!”

  “I’m not home,” I yell.

  “Yeah, I don’t think she’ll take no for an answer,” says Nutwit.

  “Shouldn’t you be rebuilding your nest?”

  “Naw. Watching you cower in fear is way more fun.”

  “What’s the deal, Uncle Bob?” Rowdy asks.

  “Be afraid, Rowdy,” I say. “Be very afraid.”

  The door opens, and there’s Julia with Snickers by her side.

  “Well, hello there, Snickers,” says Sara as she passes through the living room. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mack and his wife just moved back in,” Julia says. “They called this afternoon and said Snickers was dying for a walk.”

  I ease back a little farther under the couch. Can Snickers see me? Maybe not. But she can most definitely smell me.

  For once I regret my pungent aroma.

  Snickers darts across the living room straight to the couch, pulling Julia along for the ride.

  “Snick
ers!” Julia exclaims. “Slow down, girl!” She kneels. “Bob, are you hiding under there?”

  I move an inch, exposing my snout.

  Snickers goes insane. She yanks free of her tug-of-war string. For a moment, she pauses to do a polite nose tap with Rowdy. Then she lets loose with zoomies and yips and howls of joy.

  “Bob,” Julia says, “come on out and say hi.”

  I pretend not to hear her. Which isn’t a big stretch, since Snickers is barking like a maniac.

  “Robert,” says Julia.

  Fine. I belly-crawl out until I’m exposed.

  Snickers is ecstatic. She showers me with licks and nips and nudges and leaps. “Bob,” she croons, “how I’ve missed you!”

  I cover my head with my paws, but there’s no escaping her adoration.

  “There’s a reason we survived, Bob,” she says, her fuzzy tail in high gear. “The fates want our love to blossom.”

  “Is this your girlfriend, Uncle Bob?” Rowdy inquires.

  “Girlfriend today,” Snickers responds in a giddy voice. “But who knows what tomorrow may bring? Perhaps you should start calling me Aunt Snickers.”

  I am relieved beyond measure when Julia finally pulls Snickers, with great effort, out the door. I try to ignore Nutwit’s teasing. I try to tolerate Rowdy’s stifled laughter.

  But when Minnie starts chanting “Bob and Snickers!” followed by Moo’s “sitting in a tree!” I’ve had enough.

  I head for my doggie door, ignoring the popcorning guinea pigs, and try to locate my dignity.

  a visitor

  This evening is like lots of other evenings.

  The guinea pigs are squeaking. Nutwit is puttering in his tree. Julia and Sara and George are watching something about meerkats on the nature channel.

  I’ve just settled in with Rowdy on the couch when George drops a cookie on the floor.