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.
Sometimes when Julia climbs on the school bus, I’ll watch George watching her. All that caring and concern is painful to smell. Especially the briny scent of the stray tear he’ll flick aside with the back of his hand like sea spray.
More than once, George and I have dozed off together.
That’s the best kind of snooze, if you ask me. Good, warm, safe-in-someone’s-arms sleep.
not talking
Often when I’m with Ivan, we don’t even bother talking.
We just look out at his domain, at the green grass and the crazy babies and the swaggering juveniles and the hardworking females, and we think of nothing and everything.
When you’ve been through the worst with someone, you appreciate the best.
That’s why sometimes, when he says, “Hey, Bob,” it’s enough for me to say, “Hey, Ivan,” and then we just listen to the palm trees rustle and watch the saw grass sway.
brave
Once, when we were still at the mall, I told Ivan how brave I thought he was. The way he put up with everything that had happened to him and never stopped being a good guy.
Ivan just looked at me. Cocked that big ol’ head of his. Nodded a bit.
“That’s not brave, Bob,” he finally said. “That’s just knowing what I can’t change.”
“I call it brave,” I said. “I call it crazy brave.”
Ivan held a browning banana up to the light. Like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his long gorilla life.
I wondered whether he was going to eat it or draw it. You never knew with Ivan.
“Seems to me there are lots of ways to be brave, Bob,” he said.
A tiny mouse, name of Eek, skittered across his cage floor. “Hey, Eek,” said Ivan.
“Just checking for crumbs,” she said nervously, because she always sounded nervous.
“Dibs on all leftovers,” I reminded her.
She looked so terrified that I relented. “Over there, behind the tire. Old carrot top.”
“Respect, Bob,” she said, scampering off.
“Take a small creature like Eek,” said Ivan. He scratched his chin with the end of the banana. He did that when he was in a philosophical mood. “Maybe brave for a mouse is different from brave for me or brave for you.”
He looked at me fondly. “You’re the bravest dog I know, pal.”
“I ain’t brave.” I chewed on my tail, avoiding his gaze.