I pick my way past the devastation. The tornado has left a random path of misery.
The African Aviary is gone, simply gone.
The Kids’ Farm nearby? Untouched. Although there are some very flustered chickens clucking like all get-out from the safety of their henhouse.
I see few people. Hopefully, a lot of potential visitors were scared off by the threatening weather.
It looks like some of the animals listened to their early warning systems—those little voices inside telling them something bad was coming their way. Quite a few seem to have taken cover before the brunt of the storm.
Wish I’d paid more attention to my own internal weatherman.
I pass the penguin viewing window, the one that allows visitors to watch their graceful swimming. Several penguins are underwater, swooping and swiveling.
“Joe! Jim!” I call, and they both swim over.
“Bert okay?” I ask.
Baby Bert pops his little head out of the water. “Hey, Bob! Did you know we’re having a storm?”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“All good here, Bob,” Joe says. “You?”
“Yep. Took a little flight, though.”
“Daddy,” says Bert, “can I fly?”
“In the air? Nope,” says Joe. “You fly underwater. You’re a penguin.”
“Bob flew. And he’s a dog.”
“Bob is a very special dog,” says Joe, and he gives me a look, a grown-up, just-between-us look, that says, We’re all right, but what about the others?