you let them know you're not afraid, they'll leave you alone."
Dad pointed to the biggest, scaliest alligator. "Me and that nasty-looking
bastard's going to have us a staring contest." Dad stood on the bridge
glowering at the alligator. At first it seemed to be asleep, but then it
blinked and looked up at Dad. Dad continued staring, his eyes in a fierce
squint. After a minute the alligator thrashed its tail, looked away, and
slid into the water. "See, you just have to communicate your position,"
Dad said.
"Maybe he would have gone for a swim anyway," Brian whispered.
"What do you mean?" I asked. "Didn't you see how nervous that gator
got? Dad made him do it."
We followed Dad to the lion's den, but the lions were sleeping, so Dad
said we should leave them alone. The aardvark was busy Hoovering up
ants, and Dad said you shouldn't disturb eating animals, so we passed it
by and went on to the cheetah's cage, which was about as big as our
living room and surrounded by a chain fence. The lone cheetah paced
back and forth, the muscles in his shoulders shifting with each step. Dad
folded his arms on his chest and studied the cheetah. "He's a good animal
—fastest four-footed creature on the planet," he declared. "Not happy
about being in this damn cage, but he's resigned to it, and he's no longer
angry. Let's see if he's hungry."
Dad took me to the concession stand. He told the lady running it that he
had a rare medical condition and couldn't eat cooked meat so he'd like to
buy a raw hamburger. "Yeah, right," the salesclerk said. She told Dad the
zoo did not allow the sale of uncooked meat, because foolish people tried
to feed it to the animals.
"I'd like to feed her lard ass to the animals," Dad muttered. He bought
me a bag of popcorn, and we returned to the cheetah cage. Dad squatted