sweetie. Can you see the sign?” I ask.
“Ooohh, I see it. There’s a monkey, a bird, and a giraffe,” she says as she sees all the different animals on the zoo sign.
“I think we might be the first ones here today,” I say. I always try to time it so we get to the zoo by ten o’clock AM and get a nice long morning there.
As we pull into the parking lot, I see that we aren’t the first one’s here. There are already six cars in the parking lot. We pull up alongside a black Hummer. Fi always carries along her Dora the Explorer backpack with a change of clothes (just in case of accidents) and her pretend make-up case. I walk around to her side of the car and open her door. I hear the ‘click’ as she unbuckled her seatbelt. As she slides out of the car, I open the trunk to get her backpack.
Fuck , I think as I open the trunk. Beside her pack are two knives I forgot to take out of the car. One of the perks of being a chef is that you can get your house knives and the knives in your collection sharpened free of charge. I have a guy come around to the restaurant every two weeks to sharpen the kitchen knives and every so often, I throw in some of my personal knives. This past week, I got my seven-inch Ka-bar and my eight-inch Gerber knife sharpened. I hate driving around with those things in my trunk. If I ever got into a fender bender and the cops look in, well, I’d hate to try and explain that.
I quickly took the Ka-Bar, shoved it into Fi’s backpack, and stash the Gerber under some dirty work coats.
“I’ll carry your backpack today, sweetie,” I say, feeling like an idiot.
“That’s okay, Daddy. I like carrying my backpack.”
Great. My five-year-old daughter is carrying around a sharpened combat knife. Father of the year material here.
2
As we walk around to the entrance of the zoo, I notice that everything is very quiet. Usually there’s a lot of noise from the animals, but today, everything is very still. There’s usually a few cats running around the gift shop looking to be petted. Today, they’re absent.
We approach the counter. “Hello,” I say. There is usually a zoo volunteer at the register taking admission. “Is anyone there?” I look into the small office behind the counter. No one. Fi is looking at all the stuffed animals, already deciding which one she wants to take home.
I take an envelope from the counter, put the money in it, and write down our names. My gut is telling me that something’s wrong here. There’s definitely something strange going on, but that doesn’t mean it is dangerous. Let’s face it: I don’t think anyone would be dumb enough to rob the Austin Zoo (which is, in fact, a non-profit animal rescue).
“Come on, sweetie,” I shout to Fi as she is looking at the stuffed monkeys. “We can go in now.”
“Yay!” she yells as she tosses the monkey aside. “I wanna see the monkeys first.”
“Don’t we always see the monkeys first?” I ask. “They’re your favorite.”
We exit the back of the gift shop, which leads into the zoo. To the right are the bathrooms and up to the left about fifty feet is where the monkeys are.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom before we get started?” I ask, knowing what the answer would be. She is way too excited to pee.
“No, Daddy. I’m good.”
At the monkey cages, I finally see some people walking around. There are a few families already checking out the monkeys. That makes me feel better. I guess there are no terrorists attempting to take over the zoo today. I look down at Fiona, smile, and give her a big hug.
“Why did you hug me, Daddy?” she asks.
“Oh, your daddy’s being a big dork,” I reply, smiling.
As a family of four walks by, I hear the parents rambling on about some kind of excitement going on by the barn. The barn is a structure built to house the petting zoo. There are goats, llamas, and other
“Ooohh, I see it. There’s a monkey, a bird, and a giraffe,” she says as she sees all the different animals on the zoo sign.
“I think we might be the first ones here today,” I say. I always try to time it so we get to the zoo by ten o’clock AM and get a nice long morning there.
As we pull into the parking lot, I see that we aren’t the first one’s here. There are already six cars in the parking lot. We pull up alongside a black Hummer. Fi always carries along her Dora the Explorer backpack with a change of clothes (just in case of accidents) and her pretend make-up case. I walk around to her side of the car and open her door. I hear the ‘click’ as she unbuckled her seatbelt. As she slides out of the car, I open the trunk to get her backpack.
Fuck , I think as I open the trunk. Beside her pack are two knives I forgot to take out of the car. One of the perks of being a chef is that you can get your house knives and the knives in your collection sharpened free of charge. I have a guy come around to the restaurant every two weeks to sharpen the kitchen knives and every so often, I throw in some of my personal knives. This past week, I got my seven-inch Ka-bar and my eight-inch Gerber knife sharpened. I hate driving around with those things in my trunk. If I ever got into a fender bender and the cops look in, well, I’d hate to try and explain that.
I quickly took the Ka-Bar, shoved it into Fi’s backpack, and stash the Gerber under some dirty work coats.
“I’ll carry your backpack today, sweetie,” I say, feeling like an idiot.
“That’s okay, Daddy. I like carrying my backpack.”
Great. My five-year-old daughter is carrying around a sharpened combat knife. Father of the year material here.
2
As we walk around to the entrance of the zoo, I notice that everything is very quiet. Usually there’s a lot of noise from the animals, but today, everything is very still. There’s usually a few cats running around the gift shop looking to be petted. Today, they’re absent.
We approach the counter. “Hello,” I say. There is usually a zoo volunteer at the register taking admission. “Is anyone there?” I look into the small office behind the counter. No one. Fi is looking at all the stuffed animals, already deciding which one she wants to take home.
I take an envelope from the counter, put the money in it, and write down our names. My gut is telling me that something’s wrong here. There’s definitely something strange going on, but that doesn’t mean it is dangerous. Let’s face it: I don’t think anyone would be dumb enough to rob the Austin Zoo (which is, in fact, a non-profit animal rescue).
“Come on, sweetie,” I shout to Fi as she is looking at the stuffed monkeys. “We can go in now.”
“Yay!” she yells as she tosses the monkey aside. “I wanna see the monkeys first.”
“Don’t we always see the monkeys first?” I ask. “They’re your favorite.”
We exit the back of the gift shop, which leads into the zoo. To the right are the bathrooms and up to the left about fifty feet is where the monkeys are.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom before we get started?” I ask, knowing what the answer would be. She is way too excited to pee.
“No, Daddy. I’m good.”
At the monkey cages, I finally see some people walking around. There are a few families already checking out the monkeys. That makes me feel better. I guess there are no terrorists attempting to take over the zoo today. I look down at Fiona, smile, and give her a big hug.
“Why did you hug me, Daddy?” she asks.
“Oh, your daddy’s being a big dork,” I reply, smiling.
As a family of four walks by, I hear the parents rambling on about some kind of excitement going on by the barn. The barn is a structure built to house the petting zoo. There are goats, llamas, and other
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