The One and Only Bob (The One and Only Ivan #2)(7)

“Class, you see that crazy dashing around he’s doing?” said the teacher, pointing at me with an accusing finger. “We call that a FRAP. Frantic Random Activity Period.”

She pulled Julia aside. “He’s a smart dog,” she said. “But he’s messing with you.”

Which was true. But I hated getting caught in the act. I’d thought I was more subtle.

“Bob needs to know who’s boss,” said the teacher. “He needs to see you as pack leader. Give him some time. I see this a lot with former strays. Takes them a while to trust people.”

Like forever, in my case.

As we left the class early, I yelled, “So long, suckers!” to my classmates.

Couldn’t help rubbing it in just a little.





my car thing


I s’pose the real reason for the training stuff isn’t my bad manners. Although they leave a bit to be desired.

It’s my car thing.

I’ve always had a hang-up about cars and trucks. Also riding lawn mowers. Go-karts. Anything with four wheels, an engine, and a driver.

Don’t like ’em. Don’t want to ride in ’em. Don’t want anything to do with ’em.

Those copilot dogs with their heads hanging out the window, flying their drool flags? Boneheads.

First of all, it ain’t safe. And second of all, bad stuff can happen after you climb into a car.

Take it from me.

When Julia and George and Sara realized I have transportation issues, they tried to lure me into the back seat of their car with treats.

But you’d be surprised how stubborn I can be.

I yelped so loud, the neighbors came running out to see what was happening to the poor little doggie.

Score one for the poor little doggie.





click


That’s when they started clicker training me.

Click, here’s a treat.

Come closer to the car, Bob.

Click, here’s a treat.

Watch while I open the car door, Bob.

Click, here’s a treat.

Come right up to the seat, Bob.

Click, here’s a treat.

Come on in, Bob.

Bob?

BOB?

WHERE ARE YOU, BOB?

Yeah, it was like that a lot.





options


Still haven’t been in a car—or a truck or a tractor, for that matter.

When I have to go to the rhymes-with-pet-threat, Julia and her parents walk me there.

They say elephants have long memories. Well, so do dogs, people.

It’s not like I’m afraid. I’m just . . . exercising my options.





full wag


“Are you ready to head over to the park?” George asks as he passes through the living room. He’s carrying two flashlights and a roll of masking tape.

“Yep,” Julia says, and I do a head tilt to show I’m intrigued by the conversation.

The place where Ivan and Ruby live is called Wildworld Zoological Park and Sanctuary. But everybody just calls it “the park.”

George works at the park as head groundskeeper, which means I’ve got some sway. And everyone who’s employed there loves Julia.

“Gimme a minute. I just need to grab my coat,” says George.

“Straight home after that, though, Julia,” says Sara. “Just in case the weather gets worse. One minute the weatherman’s saying we’re going to have a little shower. Next minute it’s the storm of the century.”

Julia scratches my head. “I thought Hurricane Gus wasn’t coming till tomorrow.”

“Sometimes they change course,” says Sara. “They can be unpredictable.”

“You know,” George says with a wink, “in the old days, they only named hurricanes after women.”

Julia groans. “That is so sexist!”

“It’s not just the wind that I’m worried about on this one,” George says. “It’s the storm surge that could be a problem. Flooding.”

Julia tries to make me wear her mom’s latest creation, a knitted dog sweater with SECURITY written on it.

Which I suppose is an ironic reference to my petite size.

I politely decline.

“All right, you win.” Julia sighs. “Ready for your walk, Bob?”

At the mention of the word “walk,” I go all crazy-mutt so it’s clear I’m on board with the idea.

Humans love it when we get silly. I think they’re so weighed down by people problems that sometimes they need to be reminded what happy looks like.

Julia attaches my string. I try for a little tug-of-war, but she refuses to buy it. “Let’s go see Ivan and Ruby,” she says.

Just hearing those names sends my tail into full wag.





good words, bad words


I’ve never met a dog who didn’t get a big ol’ grin on his kisser when “walk” slipped into a conversation.

Dogs understand more than you might think. The nature channel says we’re about as smart as the average human toddler. Two-year-olds, my fuzzy rump! We’re a million times brainier than some babbling rug rat.

There was a dog on that Man’s Best Friend show who supposedly understood like a thousand human words. Border collie, I think. Those guys need to switch to decaf.