One Hundred Twenty-Seven
We drove into a blanket of strange cloud falling across the city. Almost subtly apocalyptic, really.
Tearing up the Zoo at 9:30.
I guess I forget how crowded that place can get, even in the spring. Parochial schools in plaid jumpers, visiting schools from the country counties, moms with jogging strollers on play dates, hipsters with beards and boots from the city, older folks in coral capris and oversized t-shirts. Spanish, Croatian, Japanese mix. It’s a people watchers paradise.
We started things off with a free-for-the-first-hour carousel ride. Puck hiked himself onto the back of a growling cheetah and took off. I just hoped the breakfast egg, bacon, and cheese sandwich would sit ok in there. But this ride was pretty light and easy.
Puck was a man with a plan. He eagerly took the paper map and escorted us towards the World’s Fair bird cage. We walked there longer than I thought possible, as we watched all sorts of feathered beasts snap silver fish and call to each other from the tops of swamp trees.
Then we hit the red rocks – warty pigs and gazelle, camels, okapi, and other specimens. Puck wanted to know how endangered each creature was by the tags on their signs. He passed on this information to other visiting children…
“Well, this one’s being HUNTED TOO MUCH IF YOU WANT TO KNOW!”
We paused inside a cool tunnel of caged stalls to check out the ostriches and other animals waiting for their patches of world to be mown. Two enormous giraffes pacing in circles. Just two feet away. Towering. I had never actually been that close to an animal that gigantic before. Their soft brown eyes staring down at us, stalking the hay-flecked cement. The taller one’s skin wrinkled in large mountain chains up his back, almost as if it wasn’t real. Like a blanket. Velvet gold and brown. It was a unique experience.
Our last official stop was the Bird House where Puck discovered a large nest high up in the trees…
“That’s the nest where they GROW THE BABIES!”
A quick check on the prairie dogs nibbling biscuits, apples, and broccoli, joined by a rogue peacock, and it was getting hot. More crowds. We walked back to the car to pick up The Bear for his chiropractic appointment.
“For Puck”
That’s what was written on the long cardboard box propped against the stucco wall in Rose’s apartment. It didn’t take him long to snip open the top and reveal – a black mesh outdoor cat tent. His resulting grin was contagious. He wanted to take it out pretty bad, but I told him to wait or we’d have trouble stuffing it back in for the ride home…
“Look, buster,” he put his nose in my face, smiling. “We have to take it out. It’s in a bag.”
And it stayed there.
We took a break from busyness for awhile over another round of sandwiches while I researched Don Knotts’ family history into 1500’s France. I have a hard time turning down the possibility of any genealogical research at any level.
Some more gray floated in, just lazy, over the Zoo. We weren’t due for rain yet, but something was in the air.
“Mom, look,” Puck held up his finger that had lost the tiger band-aid.
Yesterday a hammer claw had cut the skin, leaving the meat exposed. I guess he’s still a little too young for a toolbox. So we re-bandaged it with one of Rose’s fancy band-aids. The bandage lasted. For awhile. Turtle Park was just begging Puck to climb the small pine trees eight branches high – I was pretty proud – in his already scuffed birthday cowboy boots to missile old winter pinecones at me in heated giggling battle…
Pine tar.
Everywhere.
I didn’t scrub too hard. He needed another bandage. And I think a modicum of pine tar was probably left on Rose’s bathroom sink. Maybe on his Minecraft shirt, too. But what do you expect with a boy?
We feasted on clubs and juice and chips and other grand things on the drive home into the sunset. Puck was complaining about the Swiss cheese which ended up in a pile on the floor with half the sandwich. The Bear reprimanded him for awhile about it, explaining what it meant to be spoiled. After the lecture, Puck chugged his strawberry milk, none too upset…
“Ah. Delicious. You look sad, Dad. What’s up?”
“I’m not pleased how this whole thing happened.”
“Well, I’m really sorry that happened, Dad. I did not do it on purpose. And it won’t go to waste because all the wild animals will eat it. I will throw it into the yard.”
By the time we reached home, all had been forgiven. I found myself plastered between both boys in a giant family hug…
“Back in the Mama sandwich!” Puck giggled gleefully.