“I thought you needed a companion,” says Ivan. “I know you must get lonely at home, by yourself all day.”
It’s true. But I’ve never mentioned that to Ivan. Guy’s like a mind reader.
“I think Snickers and Bob would make a cute couple,” says Ruby.
I blink in disbelief. “Bite your trunk!”
Ruby starts to reply, but her voice is drowned out by a sharp clap of thunder.
“Storm’s getting close,” says Kinyani. “Ivan, dear, come on. You know how you hate the damp.”
It’s true. He carries around old burlap bags so he won’t have to sit on wet grass.
Ivan looks at me sheepishly. “She knows me so well.”
Kudzoo, one of the baby gorillas, bounds over and leaps onto Ivan’s back. Ivan loves all the youngsters, but Kudzoo is his favorite. I think she reminds him a little of his twin sister, Tag, who died when she was still a baby.
“Ride!” Kudzoo commands.
Julia appears, her backpack at the ready. “Bob,” she calls, “we need to get going.”
“Ride, now!” Kudzoo repeats, yanking on one of Ivan’s ears.
“Looks like it’s time to go,” says Ivan. “Good to see you, buddy. Stay dry, okay?”
“Will do, big guy.” I turn to Kinyani. “Enchanted, as always, my dear.”
A trumpeting noise cuts through the air. “Uh-oh,” says Ruby. “That’s Aunt Akello.”
Akello, the oldest of the elephant aunts, lumbers over. “Come on, Ruby. Weather’s getting bad.”
“Just one more minute?” Ruby pleads.
“Now.”
“But I need to tell Uncle Bob one more riddle.”
“Now,” Akello repeats.
“Nobody ever listens to the littlest elephant,” Ruby complains.
“You can tell me the riddle next time, kiddo,” I say, winking at Akello.
Ruby brightens. “Okay. Gotta go or I’ll be in big trouble! Love you, Uncle Bob! See you later, Uncle Ivan and Aunt Kinyani!”
“I’m not your—” Kinyani begins, but Ruby is already galloping back to her herd.
the beginning
In the distance, thunder growls, long and low and not giving up. Reminds me of my stomach, pre-breakfast.
I test the air. Weird. Something isn’t right.
“Julia!” It’s George, rushing over. “Hurry up! You need to get inside.”
George has an odd scent, like he’s on guard. I’ve only smelled it a few times on him.
I look up. The clouds have turned strange shades of green and yellow and gray, clustered together like rows of fat marshmallows. It’s so ugly it’s beautiful. I can’t stop looking.
The air goes still, like a cat before it leaps on its prey.
Kinyani and Ivan and Kudzoo are racing toward the gorilla villa.
A fat raindrop hits my nose. It tastes wrong. How can rain taste dangerous?
People are yelling, running. Opening umbrellas. Covering their heads with maps of the park.
More drops.
At the far end of the field, I can just make out Akello herding Ruby along.
Another drop. A dry one. Like a pebble.
“Hail,” George says. “Julia. Now.” He grabs her hand.
Rumbling. The sky boils and swirls.
“Bob!” Julia calls. “Come on!”
I move to leap off my perch. To run to Julia.
I’ve done it a thousand times. But this time, I lose my footing.
I never slip. I am as nimble as Nutwit.
But the rain, the hail.
I let out a yelp as I land on Ivan’s side of the wall, splat in the mud.
“Bob!” Julia screams.
“He’ll be okay,” George says.
I can smell Julia’s fear, and George’s doubt, as he drags her away.
torn apart
Noise.
It’s all noise.
Noise that hurts. Noise like a massive truck bearing down on us, the power of its engine, the inescapable wheels, the relentless roar.
Nothing to see, nothing even to smell.
Just the terrible sound of the world disintegrating.
no way
I’m flying.
airborne
Not far, just into the nearby giraffe domain.
Not high, just enough to buzz the tops of trees.
Not long, just long enough to stop breathing.
But I fly.
I’m not alone. Half the world seems airborne. Trees, boards, bicycles, chunks of roofs, umbrellas, chairs, bits and pieces of life: it all levitates past like some horrible magic trick.
Something hits my head—a toy truck, maybe?—and I yelp in pain.
And I’m terrified, so scared I pee myself, and I’ll be the first to admit it—you try it and see how dry your underwear stays—but still.
I fly.
Not like in the box, the box with my brothers and sisters. Not like with the owl.
This is different.
This is me, Bob the dog, spending a moment as Bob the bird.
landing
It’s over.
I land—umph—hard, on my rear, and slide to a stop directly underneath Stretch, the oldest giraffe in the place.
The roar—and by now I’ve realized we’re talking a real, live tornado—vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving a vacuum.
A silence that hurts even more than the noise.
bad dog
And this is why I’m a Bad Dog.
Not Bad Dog, like I chewed your favorite slippers. Bad Dog, like I’m not a good representative of my species. Of any species.
I don’t think, Ivan! Ruby! Julia! Are they all right? I’ve got to find them.
That’s what a hero dog would do, one of those guys on the Man’s Best Friend show. Hero dogs dash into flames and dig into rubble. Hero dogs are fearless.
Nope. Not my style.
What do I do? Bob, untamed, undaunted?
I howl like a newborn puppy.
honest
I’m not hurt.
Banged up a little, sure. But nothing major.
And I don’t howl for long.
But it’s what I do.
Like I said, I ain’t a saint. But at least I’m honest about my failings.
stretch
Slowly, with some difficulty, Stretch peers down between his two front legs. His body partially shelters me from the rain. A piece of canvas has draped itself around his neck like an ugly scarf.
I swallow my howls. We look at each other, too stunned to form actual words.
Finally Stretch clears his throat. “Hello,” he says in a strangely calm voice. “What kind of animal might you be, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Dog.”
“Didn’t think you guys flew.”
“We don’t. As a rule.”
I pick myself up, move out from under Stretch, and take in my surroundings. The pelting rain has slowed some, and the wind has dulled.
“What was that?” Stretch asks, trying and failing to yank the canvas off his impressive neck.
“Tornado, I think.”
I’ve seen tornadoes on the Weather Channel. They looked like water swirling down a drain. If the water were black and full of trucks and trees.