The One and Only Bob (The One and Only Ivan #2)(12)

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.