The One and Only Bob

by Katherine Applegate

Dogs are experts at odor. Students of stink. We analyze the air the way humans read poetry, searching for invisible truths.

We smell feelings, too. Sad has a sharp scent, with an undertone of sweetness. Sad smells like being lost in a winter forest as the sun goes down. And happy? Happy is the best, but there’s a touch of wistfulness around the edges. Happy smells like bacon ice cream served up in an expensive leather shoe.

Squirrels never do a simple jump when a quadruple-backflip-cartwheel is an option.

Guinea pigs hop up and down when they’re happy. It’s called popcorning. And it’s totally ridiculous. You’re happy, wag your tail like a real mammal.

“We call that a FRAP. Frantic Random Activity Period.” She pulled Julia aside. “He’s a smart dog,” she said. “But he’s messing with you.”

I do a head tilt to show I’m intrigued by the conversation.

Humans love it when we get silly. I think they’re so weighed down by people problems that sometimes they need to be reminded what happy looks like.

By the time we reach the park, the sky is definitely in a bad mood. Gray clouds galloping like panicked horses. The nervous scent of rain on the way, the kind that makes you antsy in your own skin.

Only dogs have perfected the art of human watching.

Sometimes she does her homework, which smells like frustration with a hint of eraser.

That’s the best kind of snooze, if you ask me. Good, warm, safe-in-someone’s-arms sleep.

As any good dog knows, dirt plus water equals mud, and mud means mess, and mess means let’s roll in this stuff and maybe dig a hole or two or ten.

Go to a dog park and you’ll see. We are equal opportunity playful. You sniff my rear, I sniff yours.

Wind like that, storm wind, doesn’t carry scent. It obliterates it.

And yet she doesn’t seem worried about herself. Just other people. Weird, the way some humans stick their necks out for others.

“All I know is, I’ve done lots of bad stuff in my life, Bob. I’ve had to forgive myself plenty, just, you know, to get through the day.” Boss gazes at me with her wise, weary eyes. “And I figure if I’m going to forgive myself, I’d better be ready to cut everyone else some slack, too.”

“You have to forgive yourself, too.”

Ivan taps his chin. He’s always slow, always deliberate. I like that about the guy. Except when I’m about to drown.

Cartoons are ridiculous for a reason.

“What has an eye but cannot see?” “I am perplexed, Ruby. Pondering and puzzled.” “A hurricane!” she exclaims.