Page 11 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
Next up, Pawprint Hollow, a petting zoo that’s somehow both adorable and depressing. The goats look like they’ve seen some stuff. One of them chews slowly with his eyes glazed over, like he’s contemplating switching careers.
Same, buddy, same.
“These poor things are the least enthusiastic goats I’ve ever seen,” Ree says, lifting her nose at them. “I once attended a goat yoga class in Portland where an entire gaggle of goats ran up and down my back.”
Georgie nods. “And it was the most exciting thing that happened to her in a decade.”
No offense to Ree, but something tells me Georgie isn’t wrong.
I think I can easily rule here.Chip’s gaze sweeps imperiously over the animal enclosures from my tote, clearly seeing management opportunities.These lesser creatures clearly need guidance. A throne. A tail to look up to.
Did he say throne?
Fish sniffs his way.I bet your idea of governance is napping sixteen hours a day.Although I agree—these goats havenomanners. Look at that one. Chewing with his mouth open like he’s in a frat house.
I propose a new hierarchy in the animal kingdom,Chip continues, puffing up his chest with feline pride and a handful of orange fluff flies away in the breeze.Cats at the top, naturally. Then rabbits—they’re polite little fuzzballs. Then those spotteddeer-things?—
Fawns,Fish adds helpfully, looking far too interested in this new hierarchy situation.
Whatever. Bottom tier—goats and toddlers. Both equally sticky and loud.
For once, we’re in agreement.Fish narrows her eyes as a toddler runs wild among us.Especially about those children.
“This area is always popular with families,” Eddie notes with the pride as if he’s watched generations of children terrorize his livestock. “Though I will admit, attendance has been down lately.”
“Maybe because your star attractions look like they’re contemplating the meaninglessness of existence,” Ree mutters while watching a particularly morose sheep that seems to be having a panic attack.
A small child approaches Fish’s tote bag and extends a finger her way with the determination of a toddler who’s never met an animal they didn’t want to poke.
Oh, for goodness’ sake,Fish yowls while ducking inside her tote until the kid trots off.Is it legal to have them running wild like that? I thought they had leash laws for children under five.
If they don’t, they should,Chip mewls her way.
Yet another thing we agree on.Fish chortles.If we keep this up, people might actually think we can stand each other.
We finally reach Galaxy Hollow,where neon lights flicker like they’ve lost the will to glow. Outdated robots recite space facts from a time when Pluto was still a planet, and the UFO-themed teacup ride sits motionless, awaiting passengers who apparently have better things to do than experience motion sickness in alien-themed vessels.
“Galaxy Hollow needs the most work,” Eddie admits as we enter a retro-futuristic area where neon tubes flicker inconsistently.
“I like it,” I find myself saying.
It’s so outdated, it’s circled back to hip. It’s kitschy in a way that would make a vintage-loving millennial proud.
Edie and Eddie beam once again like proud parents watching their kid win a macaroni art contest. And this entire park could be filed under macaroni art.
Storybook Hollow shimmers next, despite its faded glory. Swan boats drift by in the pastel canal while cotton candy vendors dressed like fairies help the guests flirt with diabetic shock. The castle is crooked, but charming. Sort of like the park itself.
And it might have the power to make a child’s eyes widen with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, magic is real. Probably not in this case, but still.
“This is one of our most popular areas,” Edie says proudly, like she’s personally responsible for preserving childhood wonder. “The swan boats haven’t changed in forty years.”
“Neither have the life jackets,” Eddie adds with a wink that suggests he’s either joking or they have some serious safety violations to address. And I think I know which is which.
We approach a massive indoor structure that looks like a Victorian mansion designed by someone with an excessive fondness for towers and gables.
“And now for the crown jewel of our park,” Eddie announces with far too much pride as we round a corner. “Magical Marvels Hollow!”
Cue the dramatic music,Chip whispers.
