ZOO GIRL* a novel by Susan M. Nelson © 2012 Steven R. Nelson *Zoo Girl was the winner of the 2013 Midwest Book Award in the Fiction: Romance category.

1

     Waking, wrapped in a cloud of excitement, I flung the blankets to the floor. I sprang from my bed, so far off the ground that morning that I wasn't sure I was even touching it. I was floating. My life, so far anyway, had been somewhat dull, normal, uneventful. The majority of those my own age would have considered it most boring by the majority of people my own age. Actually, I am of the opinion that boring isn't necessarily a bad thing.
     I had been a volunteer at the Northland Zoo for some time now. Today I was to introduce the zoo's newest member to the public. Shakespeare, our three-month-old chimpanzee and I were to greet a group of fourth graders at the information rotunda. Every so often, an animal was used to generate a lively interest in the zoo, to attract new members. Introducing baby creatures was the most effective method the zoo had found-people loved them!
     Shakespeare and I were old friends already. I had bottle fed and pampered him all his young life, and we trusted each other. I was his second "mama." Trust wasn't an issue for the baby chimp who loved everyone who looked at him, but it came harder for me. I trusted the animals at the zoo far more than the people in the world. That's probably why I worked there in my spare time, and had absolutely no social life. The Northland Zoo was my favorite place to be, my home away from home, my comfort zone.
     The zoo was a well-planned space with just the right amount of walking between animals, not the empty miles that are the norm in some zoos. It was green all year long, with pines and firs as well as trees that shed their foliage in the autumn. In warm seasons, large spots of bright color appeared-the Asiatic lilies that were planted in clumps, deep red, bushy roses, beds of mums and marigolds everywhere. The animals were usually quite visible while still having large areas of their own to play, hide, nap, or whatever they wished. Large, thick, fallen tree limbs offered jungle gyms for the tigers. They also made excellent scratching posts; the bark hung in shreds. The polar bears had icy cold water and lots of "ice floes" to climb on. Baskets full of appropriate treats were hung in treetops for the giraffes. The yards for the gorillas, chimps, and other primates yards more like children's playgrounds than animal enclosures. All of the creatures had something to do when they wanted and places to nap when they didn't. There was a monorail that ran up above the park where visitors could watch various breeds of herd animals.
     Occasionally, more exotic creatures would come for a brief visit. Once, we had golden monkeys from Japan and another time it was koalas from Australia. Next to the chimps, my favorite part was the North Country Trail. Fox, beavers (with a camera in the lodge), lynx, even pumas were housed there. I loved it. More so than my actual for-money job, this gave purpose and a deeper meaning to my existence. And that had been in short supply.
     This day at the zoo was going to be the highlight of my year. I pulled my rusty Nissan Sentra into the staff parking lot and joined the line of employees entering the grounds. It was a beautiful Minnesota early summer day-fresh, cloudless, and warm without being muggy. I was handed a new smock; I pinned my volunteer nametag on it and headed to the chimpanzee room behind the enclosures, out of sight of the public. As usual, Shakespeare was waiting anxiously for my appearance, flying into my arms the second I came into his sight. His large, liquid-brown eyes were wide in excitement, and his sparse body hair stood out at all possible angles. He cupped my chin in his hand, staring directly in my eyes. I rubbed the top of his small head. He snuggled closer. He looked more like an ancient prehistoric man than the baby he was.
     "About time you showed up, Miss Lily Brown! Shakespeare has been worried you wouldn't make it in time for his debut. He probably wouldn't go out there with me." Dr. Bud Ryan, the tall, slightly chubby teddy bear of a man who was the chimp's caretaker and best friend to all animals, grinned at me holding onto the lively baby. That wasn't true; all the chimps loved Bud. They would do anything he asked of them. Even grumpy old Mona, Shakespeare's mother, had a crush on Bud. She often followed him around the enclosure or sat in his lap while holding his hand. He coaxed her into the night-time enclosure each and every day by taking her hand. I suppose none of the rest of us could do that simple task to her liking. Mona was elderly, but she thought she was Bud's favorite baby. Unlike a lot of the chimpanzees, Mona was even-tempered and easy to work with. She rarely had tantrums or got angry. Instead, she'd plop her bottom down, turn her back on the wrong-doer, and refused to move until she got what she wanted. Mona would fold her long arms neatly across her abdomen and stare off into space.
     "I wouldn't have missed this day for anything!" I told Bud as I snuggled Shakespeare. The baby chimp got his name because, soon after his birth, he would pick up any paper with writing on it; hold it out in front of him like he was reading it. He would wave his other arm about screeching and babbling. It was hilarious and endearing. I was certainly hoping he would demonstrate it today for the children. He pulled the straw sun hat off my head, placing it on his own, and we were off.
     As we traversed the long, sloping hallway to the rotunda, a group of women, dressed in animal motif clothing, all wearing huge hats, came into view. One lady was obviously directing the others, who were raptly attentive, hanging on her every word like star-struck teenagers at a rock concert. She waved her hands about in explanation of this or that, paying no attention to her backwards steps. As she drew nearer I held Shakespeare closer to me, pressing myself against the wall.
     "Excuse us . . ." I began, but got no farther. The woman stepped right into us and stumbled slightly. Shakespeare immediately reached for the artificial banana stuck on the rim of her oversized hat, lifting the entire hat from her head. The woman screamed, Shakespeare shrieked, and I, unfortunately, laughed aloud.
     "Watch where you are going!" The woman bit off her words sharply, like bullets hitting a wall.
     "Sorry, I did try to warn you," I told her as I removed the hat from Shakespeare's tiny fingers and gave it back to its owner, who snatched it roughly, brushing off imaginary dirt left by the chimp's fingers.
     "They seem to hire just anyone these days," she complained to the gaggle of women who were clucking around her. "Absolutely anyone just off the streets, apparently." She rambled on. Dr. Bud rushed to her, supported her elbow, and with his soothingly calm voice offered her a cup of tea in his office where she could collect herself.
     "Yes," the woman's demanding voice was loud in my ears. "Tea would calm me, but I want this girl fired immediately." I wondered briefly what was bothering me about the woman. She seemed off balance or unfocused, disconnected-something was off. It was her eyes, I decided. She never looked directly at anyone, but to the side. While she was aware of her surroundings, she certainly didn't appear to be a part of them. Odd. Bud winked at me as he led her off. Must be someone important, I thought when I saw Dr. Ryan hand her off to the assistant zoo director seconds later.
     By the time we reached the sunken area in front of the gift shop, near the main entrance, we were followed by several dozen kids and their parents. We took three steps down into the carpeted arena. The built-in seating around the edges was soon filled with very excited children.
     "Good morning, everyone." I retrieved my hat and started my speech, surprised that I was totally comfortable in this public setting. Of course, they were mostly children and my concern was the chimp. "This is Shakespeare. He was born here at the zoo. His mother is Mona," I pointed to a large poster behind me. "And his father is Grant." I made another gesture at the poster. Most of the adults looked to the poster, large and colorful, but the eyes of the children remained on the chimp.
     "They are very good parents, but we help them out because we want Shakespeare to know and like people too. If he is to be an ambassador for the zoo, he needs to be comfortable around people. Besides, his daddy doesn't have much patience with the rowdy boy." Several of the parents chuckled. Up until now, the chimp had been hiding his face from view under my smock, but now he popped out and screeched. Everyone laughed at this greeting, even me, who was used to it.
     "Shakespeare drinks baby formula from a bottle just like human babies, but he also eats fruits, vegetables, grains, and sometimes my lunch." There were more giggles. "He likes to play hide-and-seek and ball. He chases the ball, but usually doesn't bring it back to me. He can climb up almost anything; he thinks I am a tree. His favorite thing, though, is to ride in one of the zoo's golf carts around the grounds." The hand of a little girl shot into the air.
"Do you have a question?" I smiled at her eager face.
     "How did he get such a silly name?" she asked.
     "Silly? Do you think it's a silly name?" She nodded as did her classmates.
"Well, I'll just show you. Does anyone have a newspaper?" A tall, dark-haired man stood up and passed a newspaper over the heads of the children. My God, he was gorgeous. I looked away from his deep, very blue eyes before I made a fool of myself forgetting just what it was I was doing.
Shakespeare grabbed the newspaper shredding most of it into strips. Then he jiggled to be let down and didn't disappoint me one bit. He held the remaining sheet of newsprint up in front of his face and waved his other arm around until it located my smock where he grabbed hold, gesturing like some great science professor lecturing his students as he "read" the newspaper, albeit upside down.
When he was finished, he shredded that piece as well, stuffed some of it in his mouth, and chewed. I picked him up, held my palm out under his chin.
     "Spit it out, Shakespeare," I ordered, which he promptly did.
     He grinned a horrible grin at the crowd and stuck his head back under my smock. This was new. Perhaps he was suddenly aware of the noisy kids. "I think that's enough for his first day out, don't you?" I asked the children seriously, and was met with a mixture of "No," "Yes" and groans as they rose to leave for the rest of the park.
     "Thanks for the newspaper," I said to blue eyes. "I'm sorry he shredded it. He doesn't do that usually," I lied.
     "It's not a problem, Lily Brown," he said as he read my nametag. "Most news isn't good anyway, while you and Shakespeare were enchanting. Well worth the price of the paper."
     I was drawn into those bright blue eyes once again. It almost always took more than a look to attract me, but not this time. I was instantly a believer in love at first sight.
     "Why, thank you." I held out my hand.
     "Morgan. John-Alan Morgan." He took my hand and held it in both of his.           "How about you, Shakespeare? Can you shake hands, too?" Shakespeare kept his head under my arm, but stuck out his small hand and waved. We had been working at waving rather than touching.
     "I need to get him back for his bottle and a nap." I started to walk away, but I didn't want to go yet.
     "Can I buy you a coffee? A soda? Something?" John-Alan Morgan asked. Maybe he didn't want to go yet either.
     "Sure. Just let me take him back to his mom. I'll meet you back here?"
     "I thought maybe you were his mom," he said.
I smiled, leaving him there. John-Alan Morgan. I knew exactly who he was. Or, who his family was, at any rate. No one lived in Minnesota who didn't recognize the name. They owned apartment buildings, hotels, restaurants, even a mall or two. One member of the family or another was in the news all the time. I didn't remember John-Alan, though. Maybe he was a cousin or from another family altogether. He was wearing a silk French blue shirt, expensive shoes, and slacks-clothes that spoke of money.
     As I continued back to the primate area, Shakespeare lifted his tiny face, peered into mine as he wrapped his arms around my neck, and promptly fell asleep on my shoulder.
     "Wow! You two were terrific." Dr. Bud Ryan took the baby from around my neck. He had been nearby just in case I needed help with Shakespeare. No volunteer ever was on the park grounds with an animal without a keeper.
     "You'll be on the front page of the paper tonight," he said over his shoulder. I hadn't even been aware of any cameras.
I half expected John-Alan Morgan to have disappeared into the zoo, or better yet, been just a figment of my imagination, but there he was, waiting, smiling. We walked side-by-side into the food court area and over to Starbucks. Normally, I didn't like strong coffee, but the only other option was the fast-food coffee, which was so watered down it had no flavor. "Maybe I could mix the two and have a perfect cup."
     "What did you say?" John-Alan was looking at me oddly, and I realized I must have spoken out loud.
I repeated what I had said and laughed at myself. "I think it comes from living alone, this saying thoughts out loud. I'm not used to getting a response or explaining myself."
     "I'll have to give it a try, although my green-cheeked conure might object. Actually, on second thought, he'd love it. He talks to himself all the time. I think he enjoys the sounds he can make. Or at least he likes to hear himself. Either way, he can spend hour after hour sitting in front of a mirror chattering loudly and watching himself preen his feathers."
     "You have a small parrot. I think that's great. I have a dog, a Great Pyrenees named Olivia, Ollie for short. I think people who have animals are so much more interesting than people who don't. They seem more aware of the world around them and are more interested in it as well. Don't you agree?" I had to stop talking to catch my breath. "Are you laughing at me?" I smiled. "You should be."
     "No, I am quite enjoying myself." I sat at a small rickety table, a cheap replica of a table from an old ice cream shop, while John-Alan went for coffee. He bought two cups-one from Starbucks and one from the fast food stand and brought an empty cup. He poured the empty cup halfway full with the fast food coffee and filled the remainder with Starbucks. I was right-a perfect cup of medium strength coffee. I knew I hadn't verbalized all of my thoughts about the two coffees. Was John-Allen clairvoyant? Could he read my mind? Did I need to guard my thoughts? We sipped in silence for a minute and then both talked at the same time, which made me laugh out loud again.
     "It's so great to meet a woman who laughs at herself." John-Alan grinned widely and his eyes twinkled. "The women I know giggle; they don't really laugh."
     "How can you not laugh?" I asked in all seriousness. "I don't understand that. I'm sure I wouldn't be able to hold it back if I tried."
     "I don't understand it either," John-Alan went on. "I grew up in country clubs with people who have way too much money and kids who go to private schools or have tutors. The girls take etiquette lessons or something like that. You know, to be good wives for lawyers, politicians, and such. That's what my sister tells me anyway. Of course she could have been teasing her naïve brother." He laughed again, this time without mirth. "The practice should be very outdated, but unfortunately is still alive, thriving in some circles. My mother, for one, would love nothing better than to hire some marriage broker to tie me to the appropriate single woman." He shrugged his shoulders, making the French blue silk shirt shimmer.
     "And just where, exactly, is this world you make so uninviting?"
     "Oak Woods, in St. Paul. Do you know it?" I did. My father had often golfed there with business cronies who had memberships in the exclusive club. I went there once to a dinner dance with the son of the president of a Roseville bank. I had a terrible time. My date's friends were very competitive and kept outdoing each other with tales of their accomplishments. So much so, that I called a taxi, skipping out on my date. I doubted he even noticed I was gone. He was far too enthralled with his own stories about all his golfing trophies.
     "I've heard of it," was all I told John-Alan. So, he was a member of that Morgan family. I finished my coffee and stood to go. "Thanks for the coffee and compliments, but . . ."
     "Do you need to leave so soon? I promise not to bore you with tales of woe about my youth if you stay."
     "I really need to feed Shakespeare. Sorry." I did feel a little sorry as I walked away from him. He seemed sort of lonely. After all, he was talking to a zoo volunteer.
     Shakespeare was sleeping at his mother's chest when I entered. Mona grunted a greeting, then promptly turned her back to me. She wasn't able to produce enough milk for her son, but she did not want to relinquish him to me. When Dr. Ryan wasn't watching me, I had been teaching her to feed the baby with the bottle. It was going very well. I mixed the formula, warmed it in the microwave, then handed the bottle to Mona, who was, by now, eagerly awaiting it. I only needed to help get the nipple into Shakespeare's sleepy mouth. She did the rest-after helping herself to a few swigs, of course. I was so intent the door opened and closed again without my noticing.
     "Well, well, what have we here?" Dr. Ryan stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips and a stern look on his face.
     "Oh, hello. I didn't hear you."
     "I can see that. How did you teach Mona to do that? I tried, but she wouldn't touch the bottle."
     "The trick is not to use the glass bottles. I bought her this larger plastic one that she can hold on to better. See?" Mona was tenderly feeding her baby with the bottle resting comfortably in her large, flat hand and laying partly on the baby's chest.
     "Ah, now I know what she's been trying to tell me! When I mix the formula in the glass bottle, she shakes her head and sits over there," he pointed to the chair that held my coat and handbag. "I think she's been waiting for you to come to do it correctly." Bud turned to go into his office, then hesitated.
     "Lily, do you ever think about returning to school to become a veterinarian? You'd be great on staff here, you know. I've been wondering about it."
     My mind drifted to the past. In college, I had decided to become a veterinarian. Working with animals was, in fact, the only career that remotely appealed to me. My father had put my older brother and a sister through graduate school, so why not vet school for me? Dad had made an excellent living for our family of six as a building contractor at a time when the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul were growing big-time in every conceivable direction.      To my surprise, Dad said yes to vet school even though he did not agree it was a job for a "mere girl." He was sure I wouldn't stick it out. I applied at the university where I was already a student, was accepted, and began classes. Two years into the program, a horse stepped on my foot and broke a bone. Dad decided he was correct in the first place and suddenly withdrew my financial backing unless I would become a nurse like my sister or a lawyer like the only boy in the family.
     Only Janey, my baby sister, supported me; the rest of the family sided with Dad. I never guessed my future was up for family debate, yet there it was. I was devastated. Able only to get a minimum wage job, I switched to a veterinarian technician program. It was a shorter course, and many of the credits I already had earned were transferable. I have never been able to forgive my father, my family, or myself for letting it happen.
     After graduation, my "real" job, the one that earned me money, was at a small animal clinic in a suburban St. Paul neighborhood called Roseville. I often assisted Dr. Rose Lynn with surgeries and animal restraint. I did lots of lab work, helped with patient intake, and did selective dog grooming-a sort of jack-of-all trades veterinary technician. Between that job, which was full-time plus, and my volunteer work with Shakespeare, there wasn't much room for pursuing anything else. I suppose my jobs were my social life. Relationships scared me and I didn't date. For the most part, I truly enjoyed being alone-for the most part.
     Shakespeare brought me back to the present. He finished his bottle, slid off Mona's lap, and toddled across the floor to me. He gripped my waistband, swung up, wrapped his leg around my waist, and gave me a sloppy kiss.
     "Yes, Dr. Ryan. I think about it often.".

2

     The telephone was ringing as I entered my house. I didn't try very hard to get to it, though. I was too tired to go out . . . it was most likely Dr. Rose needing help. She would just have to call one of the other technicians this evening. I poured myself a glass of dark red wine-Pinot Noir, my favorite-and collapsed into my sofa. I loved my house. I loved the entire neighborhood, actually. It was one of St. Paul's older suburban neighborhoods where none of the houses look remotely like any of the others. There were styles from Ranch to Tudor and everything in between.
     It was the neighborhood I grew up in, but not the same house. The house my family had lived in was three doors down. It was not for sale when I was buying. I knew this house, though, from babysitting. I probably babysat kids in all the homes on this block at one time or another. When these houses were first built and the streets laid out, this plot of ground had been a vast field of strawberries. My dad had a professional photographer shoot large frames of rows upon rows of plants, nearly as far as the eye could see. Still, in warm summertime, individual strawberry plants would pop up here and there. I had a dozen or so volunteers in my own yard.
     My house was one of the more interesting. It was tall and narrow with a rounded front door about seven-and-a-half feet tall. All the windows were long and narrow. The outside was dark red brick complimented with a deep gray painted siding. There was a turret at the top of the second floor where I could sit, pretending I was in the lookout of a ship. Childish, I knew, but it was a dream game from childhood, after all.
     The main floor consisted of a laundry catch-all mudroom at the side where the 'back door' was located next to the garage, which was about fifteen feet from the house and shaped something like the house. Three steps led up into the kitchen, to which I had added a solid rear wall of windows looking into the yard. Tall, narrow cupboards with dark stained wood lined the walls. A small, round oak table with four chairs that had belonged to my grandmother was there. The floor was tiled in ceramic inch squares of red and white, as were the counter tops. The kitchen opened into a formal dining room, wallpapered in a barely visible pattern of lacey ferns. I hadn't furnished it with anything other than a tall oak china cupboard filled with Grandma's dishes and goblets.
     To the right, a stairway ran next to the living room. The stairs were open on one side so you could look into the living room. The living area was down three steps, opening to the peak of the roof. This was my favorite room in the house. The built-in oak bookcases and window seats looked like a cross between Victorian and Prairie style architecture-too tall and narrow to be considered simply Prairie. A trim, granite fireplace stood in a corner with a thick slab of oak for a mantelpiece. My most prized picture hung above it hung, a Robert Bateman print of penguins and whalebones. Two of the walls were paneled in well-lacquered light oak; the others were painted a soft fern green. As far as I could remember, it was the way it always had been.
     Up the dark, forest green carpeted stairs was a landing with a triangular opening at the top to look down into the room below. Three modest-sized bedrooms opened off this landing. The largest was to the right and situated above the dining room. Next to that three steps led up to one spare bedroom, which was over the kitchen. The third was to the left, down three steps, situated over the catchall room, as was a bathroom. This house was built before the days of master baths and bedroom suites. One needed to know how to share in those days. I grew up in a family of four kids, one grandmother, two parents-and one bathroom.
     There was just a crawl space for an attic, but the door to this space, also revealed three very narrow steps which led to the turret. It was so perfect; I liked to just gaze at my house as I drank the wine. I couldn't have been any more self-satisfied. It wasn't good to be this complacent. Just when you think you have life maybe figured out, it slaps you across the face with some new mess you could never have imagined.
     The backyard was private. The garage bordered one side, several trees grew around each side of the lot, while, lower bushes surrounded the pond. There were also shrubs, grapevines, and trees scattered throughout the lot. It was always shady and lush. I wished I had more free time to spend there.
     The pond had been there when I'd been a child. It pleased me considerably that it was there still when I first looked at the house. It might have been the reason I bought the place. It was large, about one hundred feet across at its widest and nearly a perfect circle, albeit somewhat lopsided. Somewhere near the middle was a spring that bubbled up to the top now and again, like an old-fashioned drinking fountain at the city zoo. It was surrounded by cattails, long grasses, and wild flowers. I had planted some purple and gold iris bulbs. They were just beginning to bud. Another bloomed every spring with a stem of tiny, deep rich purple flowers that lasted only a day. Certain years would produce an abundance of lily pads, which had large white flowers. During those years many more frogs croaked happily away the summer months. Along the muddy edges the grass was lime green, soft, and fine as a baby's hair. Often tiny footprints of small creatures were visible in the mud. When I was a child I would pretend they were the footprints of tiny people and their animals that lived in villages among the pond grasses. My sister and I spent many hours looking for their houses. We never found them, but did find birds' nests though.
     Frogs, toads, and salamanders were in abundance. Birds nested there. Migrating ducks sometimes stopped for a rest or a snack. Neighborhood dogs loved it. There had once been a wire mesh fence around the pond, but it long ago had rusted away. When the pond froze over, teams of children played games on the lumpy ice. We used the rusty fence as goal posts. The city kept threatening to fill it in, but they never did. It wasn't deep, but I suppose it could be considered a danger.
     My doorbell rang. I yelled, "Open!" My neighbor, Jake Youngman, entered, followed by a huge white mass that landed square in my lap. My dog was home.
     "Hey you, baby dog." I ruffled her ears as she stood with her front feet in my lap. Her nose was less than an inch from mine. That was her usual greeting.
"Did you have a good walk?" I asked her in baby talk. She loved it when I talked to her in that tone, always wagging her entire rear end in glee. Ollie came from a place that was called The Barn of Biodiversity. It was a terrific farm that housed and raised heritage breeds that were disappearing. The caretaker was an extremely short, chubby man who laughed a lot. His name was Herbert. When introduced he'd smile and say that Herbert was a name for a much larger man, so we should call him Herbie. The animals loved him. There were horses from the plains of Asia, Navajo sheep, donkeys of some exotic breed from the mountains of Peru, chickens with more feathers on their heads than on their bodies, and the largest sow I had ever seen, who must have weighed at least a ton. She was black with curled ears and she answered when you talked to her. Too bad we couldn't know what she was saying.
     Ollie was born to a pair of Great Pyrenees dogs from Spain who lived at the farm-park. Luka, the mother, was the sweetest dog I had ever met. I truly wanted her. Kry was the sire and an extremely large dog. After being together for more than four years, they finally had a litter of pups. Unfortunately, they picked the coldest day in years to have their babies, and no one was around at the subzero park. By the time someone found them, ten of the thirteen had frozen or been rolled on by their mother as she gave birth to the others. This is common in large breeds unless they are given a special birthing box that has ledges around the entire inside of the box. It gives the babies shelter while their mother thrashed around. It was on a Friday, the thirteenth.
     I fell for Ollie the moment I saw her, at about two days old. She was snowy white with one charcoal-colored ear. She could recognize me before her eyes and ears were open. She would wiggle onto my lap every time I came for a visit, which was nearly every day. I'd wished for a dog just like Luka. And now I had one, complete with fear of storms and a stubborn streak a mile wide. Be careful what you wish for, I suppose. But, despite her inherited quirks, she was also loyal, loving, and very smart.
     Jake had a key to my place. He often took Ollie with him and his border collie, Butch, for long walks when he got home from work. His job was behind a desk. He was on the phone for ten hours a day, so he needed to move when he was done. Jake was only slightly taller than I was at five-seven. His hair was always neatly trimmed, very blonde-white in the summer months. He was slim, even looked athletic, but the only real action he saw was dancing.
     "Oh, wine."
     He saw my glass and headed for the kitchen to get one of his own. Jake's house was bordering mine. It was modern in style, surely the strangest on the block. It was made of concrete block, shaped like three rectangles with the narrowest one in the center. The long wing on the left contained three bedrooms and one bath. The wing on the right was a kitchen-dining area at the front, a one-car garage at the rear, with the driveway along the side. The center was the living room with windows and French doors all along the back wall, opening to a patio that ran the length of the center rectangle. There were four wide concrete steps down into the yard. The whole house was unusual, artistic, very beautiful, with bushes, trees, and vines growing everywhere. Jake had at least one green thumb.
     Jake and I started out looking to buy one house together because neither of us could, at the time, afford to buy individually. When we saw the ad for these two, right next to each other in our old neighborhood, we jumped on it. Jake's parents helped us both with down payments, and then my uncle died, leaving me enough money to buy our dreams. Sometimes life works out perfectly. I do still miss that uncle and think lovingly of him often-each time I walk into my house, actually.
     "Hey," Jake said as though he were making an announcement. "I think I might have met someone today." Jake had been looking for Mr. Right ever since I had known him, which was junior high school, our freshman year.
     "Oh yeah?"
     "He delivered photographs to the office today, and he lingered."
     "He lingered, huh?"
     "Yeah. Lingered. You know, in a meaningful way."
     I laughed. "Well Jake, I met someone today, too."
     "Was there any lingering involved?"
     "There certainly was. There was also coffee," I told him smugly.
     "Coffee. I'm jealous," Jake finished his wine and stood. "I gotta go. Later, baby."
     I had loved Jake since the moment we met. I was sitting between two tall shelves of books at our neighborhood library, in the middle of the floor with books spread all around me, with no room for people to get past. I wasn't accustomed to seeing other people there. Jake kept stepping over me, kicking me in the head. After several blows I decided to do something about it. The next time he stepped over me, one leg was still in the air, and I grabbed it, and pulled him down. He grinned at me, "Hey baby, want a stick of gum?" That was all it took. We started meeting every day to study, argue, or just relax. Jake lived only one block away, and we began walking to school together.
     Once, he showed up at my door, all serious. "We have to talk, Lily."
     "Sure. What's up?"
     "I'm gay." Just like that, no forewarning. No leading up to the big announcement.
     "Is that all? I knew that months ago, you idiot!" I told him. Jake looked at me in surprise.
     "It's okay then? I mean we're still friends and all?" Jake was flustered.
     "Absolutely. The best of friends, I'd say." We were inseparable from that day on. I also think I was aware then that it would be very hard for me to find another man with whom I could be so comfortable.
     "Well, okay then. What do you want to do today?" He could always make me laugh. He was creative, inventive, helpful, and incredibly kind. Cute, too. But, although he loved me as well, I knew that what he really loved were other men. Whoever got him would be the luckiest man on the planet. I was hoping for the photograph guy.
     I turned on my computer and went on the internet to look up the Morgan family. It wasn't hard to find them. Mrs. Alicia Morgan was the queen of social events-charity balls, benefits, and art auctions. Along with governors' and mayors' wives, she led every social event in the Twin Cities. In the dozens of photographs I looked at, she never looked pleased or happy, but strained, disapproving. Mr. Raymond Morgan didn't appear to have political aspirations of his own, but he certainly hobnobbed with everyone who did. His picture was often in the newspapers along with one politician or another. He was a building contractor like my dad; only he built huge buildings, not houses.
     There were three children: Gregory, the oldest; Catherine, the only girl; and John-Alan, the baby at nearly thirty. It seemed the two eldest were as involved as their parents, but John-Alan wasn't mentioned other than to say he was an architect of some renown.
     Interesting. It seemed that Catherine was on the board of directors for the zoo, and it was her daughter who had announced that Shakespeare was a funny name. I recognized her in a photo with her parents. What was that about a small world? With that thought in mind, I scrolled back to the last photo of Mrs. Morgan. Oh boy! Was she the woman at the zoo? I tried to picture her in that awful hat. Sure enough, it had been her. I was almost positive.
     I ambled into the kitchen to either start cooking supper or get another glass of wine. I walked straight into Jake.
     "I came to invite you to supper. Care to sample a new invention of delectable goodies? He grinned. "Bring Ollie, the wine, and come on over."
     "Love to!" Another of Jake's talents was to make a fabulous meal out of whatever was in the cupboard. Right now, he was in my cupboard picking out an onion and a can of black olives.
     "There. I'm ready. Come soon." I picked up the bottle and followed Jake next door.
     Supper was a superb dish of canned artichoke hearts, sun dried tomatoes, capers, black olives, fresh basil, parmesan cheese sauce, and caramelized onions over bowtie pasta. Yum! We finished the wine, discussing men in general. Then we got specific.
     "John-Alan Morgan, huh? I met him once years ago. Seemed to be a nice guy. Into supporting the arts and all that. Usually had at least one beautiful woman draped on his arm."
     "Married then?" I asked my friend casually.
     "Don't think so. Plays the field. Mom and dad will probably try to marry off their baby boy to a rich-and-famous, you know."
     Rich and famous, huh? Certainly not this girl. I immediately decided he wasn't the man for me. That was one of my sillier moments, as I'd not been able to get him out of my head since I'd first seen him. Rich and famous I am not, nor would I ever want to be.
     "So, Jake. Tell me about this gorgeous man you met today."
     "Didn't exactly meet him. More like gazed longingly. But, tomorrow's another day, isn't it? I will need more photos from this guy. I'm sure of it."
     Jake managed and owned a small local magazine. It was an arts events glossy thing for people who lived in or visited the Twin Cities. It was quite a lovely magazine, really. I read it myself. It was amazing how much there was to do in these cities. Jake usually took the pictures himself, so this other guy must be pretty good for Jake to take notice of his work.
     I glanced over to the dogs, poked Jake, and gestured. They had somehow managed to twist their bodies in such a way that each of them was using the rump of the other for a pillow. Ollie's white and Butch's black-and-white were stunning. As always, Jake had a couple of cameras within reach. He snapped three or four shots of the pair.
     "They'll make a good cover for the magazine."
     "Of course they aren't art or events, you do realize."
     "Well, there is that."
     I stood to go home, stomach full, slightly tipsy, and very content. Ollie woke the moment I stood up and was wagging at the door waiting for me. It was a two-minute meandering stroll to my side door from Jake's side door. We wound around the decorative plum that was an assortment of pinks this time of the year, then went upstairs to bed. Ollie always took me all the way up to my room, but when I was settled, she went back downstairs, curling up at the foot of the steps to stand guard. Woe to anyone who tried to get past her! The phone rang again, but I ignored it. Yawning widely, I drifted off. Wine drinking can keep some folks awake, but not me.

3

     It was surgery day at the animal clinic. The usual assortment of spays, neuters, dentals, and one orthopedic procedure were on the books for that morning. Dr. Lynn was having what I figured was her third or fourth cup of strong coffee when I entered. A fresh pot was brewing. Greta, my friend, the best veterinary technician in the Midwest, was already working on a large dog's teeth. She looked up, nodded, much too intent on her job to talk. The soft drilling and spray of water was the only sound. Greta was younger than me, but we hit it off. She had very short, curly blonde hair. Her plump, rosy cheeks gave her that healthy Scandinavian look, which in fact, she was. She was efficient, friendly, incredibly intelligent, and kind. Dogs and horses were her passions, not men, so we had that in common as well. She had taught me much of what I understood about this job. She also was the only other person I knew who treated her dogs like family, just like me. She always made me think of the Queen Mum with her herd of Welsh Corgis around her feet-except with Greta, it was longhaired dachshunds. She had had a litter and kept all of them.
     "Hey Rose, were you trying to reach me last night?" I poured a cup of too strong brew. "Sorry, I was just too tired. It was a busy day at the zoo."
"Wasn't me. For a change, there were no emergencies. Here, anyway." She flipped the St. Paul Pioneer Press in my direction. "You, my friend, are now a media star." There I was! Holding a wicked-looking and grinning Shakespeare. The reporter made us sound like the most exciting event in town. I was sure this newspaper article would bring in the crowds the zoo wanted. Poor Shakespeare. Poor Dr. Ryan. He was the one who had to deal with the baby chimp that day. Shakespeare was shy. If the crowd was huge and noisy, he wouldn't even look at them.
     "It was probably me. I wanted to go to a movie or something." Greta came into the lounge for a diet Fresca, her favorite soda. "Or a carriage ride. I need to practice before the Carriage Classic Horse and Buggy show this fall." She glanced at the paper. "Such a publicity hound!" She teased me knowing full well that I didn't like being in the public eye any more than she did.
     Greta had at least three carriages and a Fjord pony, a Norwegian horse named Abel. She spent her time after work and on weekends working with him, hitched to one of the carriages. After winning many events with intriguing names like "Gambler's Choice," and placing in many others, she was a pro. Riding along with her was great fun. This year we planned to let Ollie ride along in the cart-and-dog event. Ollie acted like it was an everyday thing. Greta let me drive Abel once in a while, but Abel would just look back at me with his ears pricked as if to say, "What are you telling me to do anyway?" Or "Can you just make up your mind, woman!" Once he came to a dead standstill waiting for a clear directive, switching his tail in annoyance. Abel and Greta could, I swear, read each other's minds, anticipate each other's moods and movements. It was quite remarkable.
All went well that morning, with no interruptions, no crazy questions or phone calls-a normal routine morning. Well, there was one thing. Mr. Ralph brought in his old collie mix as he always did, without an appointment or even a warning call.
     "What seems to be the trouble with Sadie, Mr. Ralph?" I was stroking Sadie's head. She was nearly moaning in pure enjoyment.
     "I want you to put her down." He had tears in his eyes and wouldn't look at me.
     "Is she ill?
     "No, but I am going to die. I don't want her to suffer."
     "Are you ill, Mr. Ralph?"
     "Not right now, but I will be. I am seventy-five years old, young lady!"      Okay, now I got it.
     "Listen to me. No one else in this world will take care of you like she does. You both should have several years yet to love each other. Don't give up before there is a problem, Mr. Ralph." Sadie was leaning against his frail leg so insistently he had to sit. His hand automatically landed on her head and his fingers started messaging.
     "Look at her. She needs you, plus we really can't put down a dog that is so healthy, you know."
     "Do you think so?" One tear slid down his ruddy cheek. This was breaking my heart. It was also a common worry among our senior citizens. A lot of old folks die shortly after their pets do.
     "Of course I do. I'll tell you what. You go home and write a note that says if anything happens to you, they should call us immediately. Tape it to your phone or refrigerator with this card." I added my name and phone number in large bold print to a card with the clinic's address. I added Greta's name and number as well. He stuffed it into his pocket, smiling.
     "Okay now?" I asked him, uncertain if I had helped.
     "Oh yes! Thank you so much." Mr. Ralph and Sadie both left with a new spring in their steps. I turned to get back to work, seeing the rest of the staff in the surgery doorway, watching us.
     "Wow. She is good. Smooth." Greta laughed.
     "That's why we put up with her." This from Dr. Lynn.
     "And she even meant what she said. She would take in that old dog and give it a home just to make Mr. Ralph stop worrying." Greta shook her head. "I wonder if Ollie will share?"
     "Oh, come on! Let's get back to work. Either of you would have told him the exact same thing." They had both taken in pets belonging to someone else. I didn't even know just how many of them Dr. Rose had. I pushed both Greta and Rose back to their current duties. Then I went to my own. The usual chaos filled the rest of the day. Between the barking, phone calls, appointments, tragedies, and joyful news, the hours flew by. After twelve of those hours, however, I was thinking I needed a new job.
     The clinic was only a few miles from my home. For that I was grateful as I slid the key into the lock, opening the door to my sanctuary. Ollie was there emptying the water bowl, and she had a note attached to her furry head. It was attached with a frilly child's hair clip of a butterfly. I couldn't believe Ollie had tolerated it.
     "Hey, Lily . . . got a date with the photographer. He does have a name. Andrew, Andrew Calder. Anyway, Ollie has had her walk. You are working longer hours than I am. Supper is in the fridge. See you later."
     Ah, if only Jake wasn't gay, I'd marry him in one second. Supper was a terrific soup, kind of spicy but not terribly hot. Cornbread as well. He needed to open a restaurant. This thought occurred to me every time I sampled his cooking. I would never have to cook again.
     Ollie and I watched one of our favorite movies before bed, "Beethoven." Ollie sighed heavily each time the camera zoomed in on the handsome St. Bernard. I completely agreed with the sentiment. She often sat with me while I watched TV, but when this movie was running, she actually did see it.
Sometime during the night I was awakened by the sound of the one stair that creaked when stepped on. There was no sound from Ollie, so I figured it was Jake. It was. A tidy bundle of black and white landed on my chest followed by Jake sitting on the edge of my bed.
     "Wake up, Lily! This is important."
     "Okay, I'm awake." I sat up, spilling Butch from my lap, and turned on a light.
     "I think he's the one. Really, he is. We have so much in common it's scary. I know it's a cliché, but we like all the same things, same music, same movies, same books. He's intelligent. Beautiful besides. He brought me roses. Do you believe it? Roses! On our first date."
     I smiled a little wistfully. "I'm happy for you, but maybe you should get to know him before you run off and get married."
     Jake kicked his shoes off, climbing under the quilt. "Do you mind? I don't want to go home." I shook my head and settled back down. He did this often. Butch settled in between us, and we all slept. When I next opened my eyes, everyone was gone. The sun splashed wildly across the blankets in a pattern that matched the loose weave of the curtain fabric. The window was open to the soft smell from the plum tree. It was Saturday, and I needed to be at the zoo by noon.
     One of the things I like best about living in Minnesota is the changing seasons. Even the winters were glorious, although only when my car started and I could get to work on time. My cars had all been old, and consequently somewhat unreliable. They didn't like the cold. I often had a little trouble getting the engine to turn over. The animal clinic was close, so when my car didn't cooperate, calling a taxi worked very well without emptying my bank account. The Northland Zoo was clear across the Twin City area, and, on a good day, I could get there in an hour. Today was a good day.
     "Good morning, everyone," I said with a great deal of cheer, happy to be in this room full of chimpanzees and their caregivers. I knew this room like I knew my own house. Shakespeare jumped from the arms of a young man I didn't know. He climbed up my body to look me square in the eyes, complaining loudly. Then he swung himself around to my back. He wrapped his arms loosely around my neck, holding on. This was the way mother chimps carried their offspring. It was comfortable enough, and Shakespeare loved riding like that.
     "He won't eat this morning." The young man looked worried. He was strong and fit with darker skin, dyed blondish hair with dark roots-the newest mode around here-black eyebrows, and thick long lashes. He also had a charming accent. Latin, maybe?
     "What are you feeding him?"
     "The usual." He showed me the bottle of formula. It was a glass bottle. Hmm, was son getting as fussy as his mum?
     "Let's try this." I washed the plastic bottle, poured the milk into it. I handed it back to the new guy. I transferred Shakespeare to his arms, and he took the bottle with gusto. Uh-oh. He was fussy. I told the staff about my bottle discovery. June, one of the keepers, said she'd buy some more on her way home. When Mona finished her own breakfast, she gently removed the bottle and baby from the volunteer. We all watched this tender act with awe.
     These animals were so wonderful! How people can be so blind to their sensitivity is beyond me. I swear sometimes I could see traces of myself in Mona. Shakespeare, too, for that matter. Shakespeare's father, Grant, was pig-headed and self-satisfied like any human male. To be fair, not just the males. He often helped himself to whatever Mona was eating. She never tried to stop him. The good wife.
     Dr. Ryan walked into the room with Hercules on his shoulder. Herc was an Amazon parrot that had lost a wing to cancer. Now living with Dr. Ryan, he often came to work with him. I think Bud simply forgot the bird was on his shoulder. When he passed in front of the mirror he did a double take, backing up for another look. He reached up and stroked Herc's feathers. Dr. Ryan was somewhere in his mid-fifties with graying blonde hair that was always a little askew. It made him cute and vulnerable looking. He was easily distracted. He had way too much on his mind, with too many people and chimps depending on him. Somehow he managed it all with ease.
     "Here is today's list of activities/assignments, folks. Enrique, have you introduced yourself to everyone?"
     "Not yet, sir."
     Dr. Ryan laughed. "We are informal around here. Bud will do. Enrique is here from Mexico City to learn about zoo animal health before he starts school in zoo management. Mexico City wants to improve their zoo, with an emphasis on the overall health and happiness of its inhabitants."
     "Especially the animals that interact with people," Enrique added, grinning at me as Shakespeare took the empty bottle from Mona, throwing it across the room. He then came over to me and asked to be picked up.
     "Enrique, this is Lily. I want you to work with her today. She is Shakespeare's second mother." I held out my hand to Enrique, only to have it removed from his grip by the baby chimp who placed it back around his own body.
     "No, Shakespeare. Be a good boy."I handed him to Enrique and showed him the treat cupboard.
     "See if you can bribe him with something," I suggested.
     "Lily, come in my office for a moment, will you?" I followed Dr. Ryan. "Sit, please." He rummaged in his desk drawer, pulling out a stack of papers.
     "We had a meeting last night and again this morning. Zoo directors, some administrative staff, along with our lawyers, and accountants attended. Most importantly, a new benefactor was there. We decided to create a scholarship in order to send someone to school to become a zoo employee-a zoo veterinarian, to be precise." He looked at me in all seriousness.
     "Lily, would you be interested? Usually this kind of thing is given to someone just out of school, but no one here has shown the promise that you have. I checked to see how much school you've had so far. Besides your B.A. from the university, you have two full years of vet school under your belt." He sat behind his desk, waiting for me to respond. I was speechless.
     "The scholarship would include money for living expenses as well as all school expenses. And the classes are in St. Paul, on the university campus. That's pretty close to your house, isn't it?" I nodded, still unable to speak.
"If you need time to think about it . . ."
"Bud, you know this is a dream come true for me. I don't need any time. I'd love to do this!"
     "Great. I was pretty sure you would. Your grades were surely up to snuff, and we assumed you haven't lost your interest. Take these forms and fill them out. I'll tell the committee that you have accepted their offer. For now, I think someone else needs you." He gestured at the door where Enrique was trying to hold back a struggling Shakespeare. "I want you and Enrique to do the 'meet the kids' program this morning."
     On this Saturday morning in May, the crowd was a large one. It was a mixed group of children and adults. They all were waiting impatiently for us. Several of the kids had on T-shirts that had a picture of a baby chimpanzee on the front and "I love Shakespeare" on the back. The powers that be wasted no time in capitalizing on this one. Shakespeare hid his head under my smock, but his natural curiosity got the best of him. He kept peeking out. Enrique introduced him. I simply stood by and watched the crowd. June was also there.
"Can I see Shakespeare read the newspaper?" a youngster in the front row asked. Enrique looked at me questioningly. Obviously no one had shown him this yet. I checked out my pockets for something to read, but found nothing.
"I have a newspaper here that Shakespeare can have," said a helpful voice from the audience. I looked up to see John-Alan Morgan with a huge grin holding out a newspaper to me.
     Shakespeare reached out, snatching it. He held it directly in front of his eyes, screaming a long stream of babble out to the children. They shrieked in glee. When Shakespeare started to wave his arms and shred the paper, it was near pandemonium. Shakespeare seemed to love this and played to his adoring public even more. What a show-off he was! I thought he'd be afraid of a crowd this large, but no he chewed some of the newspaper, and promptly spit it out at my feet. He climbed up my body, wrapping his arms around my neck in his usual manner. By then, I was laughing so hard there were tears on my cheeks. We left the group wanting more; I thought Shakespeare had enough excitement. I headed back toward the chimp area.
     I was stopped by a hand on my arm.
     "Hello, Lily." John-Alan had a small boy in tow. "This is my nephew, Bobby. His sister told him about Shakespeare. He wanted to see for himself. His mom is my sister and is on the zoo board of directors, so I'm dropping him off. She had some sort of a meeting earlier this morning."
     Ah, I bet I knew about that meeting.
     "How are you?" I asked politely, not quite knowing what else to say, I certainly wasn't expecting him to be there.
     "I thought I'd see if you were free for lunch today." His blue-eyed smile was very tempting.
     "Sorry, but I need to deal with Shakespeare." I really was sorry.
     "I can take him, Lily," offered Enrique. I looked at June who nodded her approval.
     "There you go. All settled then?"
     "Sure, I guess it is." I let Enrique take the baby, I removed the smock and handed that to him as well, but Shakespeare took it instead. He cuddled it like a blanket.
     "What do you have in mind?" I asked John-Alan.
     "I knew you'd be here, I confess. I called to ask. Anyway, I have a picnic lunch for us so we can eat out in the park somewhere."
     "I know just the place." We walked to a part of the zoo grounds that was, as yet undeveloped. There were lots of trees, even a small creek. John-Alan spread a blanket and unpacked his basket.
     "Wow. Either you are a gourmet chef or someone else packed this lunch." I noticed all the fine delicacies, realizing I was starving. There was a basil pesto salad with shrimp, dark rye bread with cheddar cheese, several types of pickles and olives, and sliced fresh veggies with a creamy dill dip. Topping it all off was a fresh fruit plate with a caramel sauce for dipping.
     "I actually can cook, but this was a last minute idea. I know a place. I'm so happy this all worked out, I love picnics."
     "John-Alan, this isn't a picnic exactly, it's more like a fancy brunch at the local country club. A picnic is hot dogs, potato salad, iced tea or Kool-aid." I laughed at his wistful expression.
     "That sounds so good! Can we have pickles and potato chips, too?"
     "Certainly. What's a picnic without them, I ask you." I was still laughing.
     "I need your phone number." John-Alan announced out of the blue.
     "My phone number?" It took me a moment to follow this rapid switch.
His laugh was very happy and contagious.
     "How else can I call you?"
     I wrote down the number on a piece of napkin and gave it to him, not sure I wanted him to use it. But, lunch was terrific; the time went by much too quickly. I told him about both my jobs, but not about the possibility of returning to school. I told him about my house situated in the same neighborhood I grew up in and how much I loved it. I told him about Ollie, Jake, and Butch. I told him how much fun we had together.
     "Your best friend is a guy, huh?" He teased me.
     "A guy AND his dog, don't forget. The dog part is very important."
     "Well, I don't have a dog . . ."
     "No one is perfect," I told him with a very serious look.
     John-Alan told me he was an architect who designed innovative playground equipment, park landscapes, schools, and office buildings. Lately he'd been doing some landscape design on a large public scale and wanted to try doing it for private yards. He liked to take old buildings and turn them into viable things of beauty. I sensed his enthusiasm when he talked about his work, He was enthralled with what he did. John-Alan casually mentioned that he loved kids, but didn't have any, did I? While he talked about himself, he stretched out his rather long legs, leaned back to rest on his elbows, letting the sun shine directly on his pleasant expression. He was completely relaxed . . . happy. It was exactly the way Ollie and Butch relaxed, completely stretched out, exposed almost, when they were content.
     "Not yet. Someday maybe, but I have so much I want to do first."
     "Like working with Shakespeare?"
     "Absolutely! I need to get back, too. But, thank you so much. This was fun and very, very tasty." I stood, brushing off my slacks.
     "Can I call you soon?"
     "Sure, but I think we have covered it all." I smiled, then started walking away. I could feel him watching me, so I turned and waved.