23. Bruce
CHAPTER 23
brUCE
At the sight of the giant cat, Lilly tenses, but Colossus just stares at the killing machine with a curiosity he usually reserves for stuffed toys, robotic vacuum cleaners, and new shoes.
Note to self: if I ever go on a safari, the dog will stay behind because he might just sniff the butt of a tiger if he got the chance.
Snapping out of her reverie, Lilly rewards Colossus’s chill behavior with a treat. Then we move on, stopping only when we spot a crocodile nearby.
This time, Colossus seems a little perturbed by what he sees, which is probably for the best as Florida teems with that creature’s alligator cousins, and few Chihuahuas would survive trying to befriend one of them. Then, as though trying to prove how bad he is at telling apart dangerous animals from benign, Colossus barks at the Malayan tapir.
“I know, sweetie,” Lilly says soothingly. “That thing needs to decide if it’s a pig or an ant eater.”
Somehow, her words calm the puppy, and as soon as he’s quiet, she reinforces the behavior with a cookie.
“Tapirs are actually related to horses and rhinoceroses,” I can’t help saying.
Lilly sticks her tiny little tongue at me. “And here I thought getting rid of Dr. Smith would mean we’d skip boring lectures.”
Fuck. Could I forbid her from doing that again, and anything else involving that delectable tongue, especially while I’m trying to pedal? Bikes and hard-ons definitely don’t mix.
Nah, bad idea. At best, I could politely request it. But with her being a contrarian, that would be like giving her a cookie. She’d just do it more.
Colossus begins barking again, this time at an orangutan.
“Hush,” Lilly says to him soothingly. To me, she says with a grin, “Not that you can blame him. He probably thinks that’s your chef, naked.”
I burst out laughing. Now that Lilly has pointed it out, the resemblance is uncanny.
Hearing me laugh seems to calm the dog, and Lilly gives him a treat again before we move on to the exhibit with the sloth bear.
Of course. Colossus wags his tail at the bear.
“Is it possible he’s smart enough to suck up to dangerous animals?” I ask Lilly. “And pester only the ones who can’t eat him?”
“I’m pretty sure the chef—I mean, the orangutan—could be a danger to a dog Colossus’s size.”
We proceed, and Colossus proves my theory wrong when he’s happy to see the meercats but barks at an elephant. Around the lion enclosure, he wags his tail, but he also does it for a camel.
“Maybe he decides his attitude based on smell?” I mutter. “Or on the shapes of the clouds above us?”
Lilly gestures into the distance. “This next stop should be interesting.”
She’s right. In the next habitat, we spot African painted dogs.
Huh. They must smell enough like a regular dog for Colossus to want to go sniff their butts, and he looks disappointed when he’s not allowed to do so.
We ride over to the next habitat, one with hyenas.
Colossus begins to growl.
Lilly soothes him. “I know, sweetie. No one likes them—not since they helped Scar with his evil plans against Simba and Mufasa.”
But didn’t the hyenas redeem themselves somewhat when they dispatched Scar at the end?
Whatever his reason for disliking them, after the hyenas, Colossus seems to be in a bad mood and barks at gazelles, then antelopes, followed by oryx and addax.
“Maybe he doesn’t like them because of all those horns,” Lilly says with a wide grin. “Think about it: they’re big and they’re horny.”
I chuckle and don’t add that by her logic, Colossus should also bark at me since I’m pretty big, and being around Lilly keeps me hornier than a teen who’s just discovered the internet.
As we proceed forward, there seems to be even less logic for Colossus’s likes and dislikes. He’s glad to see the pigmy hippo but not the black rhino, barks at gorillas but is happy to see chimpanzees—even though the latter seem to be playing hot potato with their feces. After that, he wags his tail when he spots the giraffes, but he growls at their close cousin, the okapi.
We keep going like that until we reach the giant Galapagos tortoises—who happen to be humping each other’s brains out as we approach.
Blushing, Lilly clears her throat. “Well, then. This is awkward.”
Yeah. They look like two tanks going at it in slow motion, and the dog seems fascinated by the spectacle, while I just feel jealous.
“They’re taking a while,” Lilly says after we stand there in fascination for at least a few minutes. “They must be practicing turtle tantra.”
“They’re the longest-lived land vertebrates,” I say. “It would make sense if their coitus was also the longest lasting.”
Colossus yawns—probably getting bored of the horny reptiles. I drive us over to the next attraction, which happens to be the harpy eagle.
Colossus’s reaction is completely neutral, like the bird doesn’t even exist.
“Do you think he’s getting tired of seeing so many animals all at once?” I ask.
“Probably,” Lilly says. “And it is getting close to his dinner time.”
She’s right. I pick up speed and drive us to a little spot by a stream where our picnic is already set up.
“Wow,” Lilly says when she sees it. “That’s pretty nice.”
If by nice, she means unnecessarily romantic, then I’d have to agree. For me and Lilly, there’s a cozy blanket on the grass with wine and a veritable buffet of hors d'oeuvres. For Colossus, there’s a baby-gate-enclosed space covered by a net (to protect from birds of prey) and a variety of blended foods spread over lick mats to stimulate his tastebuds for at least a few minutes.
Taking a seat, I grab a smoked trout croquette and gesture for Lilly to join me. She does, and as she devours a date stuffed with goat cheese, I do my best not to stare too much at her mouth—no matter how fascinating it is.
“Was that okay?” she asks, looking self-conscious. “I promise I’ll chew the next morsel a bit more.”
I look at her with a confused expression, until it hits me. “You mean my misophonia?”
She nods.
“I completely forgot about that,” I say, awed. “The first time that’s ever happened.”