BOB THE DINOSAUR GOES TO DISNEYLAND

For a birthday present, Fred’s wife, Karen, bought him a plastic, inflatable dinosaur-a Tyrannosaurus Rex.  It was in a cardboard box, and Fred thanked her and took the dinosaur downstairs to his study and took it out of the box and spent twenty minutes taking deep breaths and blowing air into it. 

When the dinosaur was inflated, he sat it in front of his bookshelves, and as a joke, got a mouse ear hat he had bought at Disneyland three years before, and put it on the dinosaur’s head and named it Bob.

Immediately, Bob wanted to go to Disneyland.  There was no snuffing the ambition.  He talked about it night and day, and it got so the study was no place to visit, because Bob would become most unpleasant on the matter.  He scrounged around downstairs at night, pacing the floor, singing the Mouseketeer theme loud and long, waking up Fred and Karen, and when Fred would come downstairs to reason with Bob, Bob wouldn’t listen.  He wouldn’t have a minute’s worth of it.  No sir, he by golly wanted to go to Disneyland.

Fred said to Karen,  “You should have bought me a Brontosaurus, or maybe a Stegosaurus.  I have a feeling they’d have been easier to reason with.”

Bob kept it up night and day.  “Disneyland, Disneyland, I want to go to Disneyland.  I want to see Mickey.  I want to see Donald.”  It was like some kind of mantra, Bob said it so much.  He even found some old brochures on Disneyland that Fred had stored in his closet, and Bob spread them out on the floor and lay down near them and studied the pictures and wagged his great tail and looked wistful.

“Disneyland,” he would whisper.  “I want to go to Disneyland.”

And when he wasn’t talking about it, he was mooning.  He’d come up to breakfast and sit in two chairs at the table and stare blankly into the syrup on his pancakes, possibly visualizing the Matterhorn ride or Sleeping Beauty’s Castle.  It got so it was painful thing to see.  And Bob got mean.  He chased the neighbor’s dogs and tore open garbage sacks and fought with the kids on the bus and argued with his teachers and took up slovenly habits, like throwing his used Kleenex on the floor of the study.  There was no living with that dinosaur. 

Finally, Fred had had enough, and one morning at breakfast, while Bob was staring into his pancakes, moving his fork through them lazily, but not really trying to eat them (and Fred had noticed that Bob had lost weight and looked as if he needed air), Frd said, “Bob, we’ve decided that you may go to Disneyland.”

“What?”  Bob said, jerking his head up so fast his mouse hat flew off and his fork scraped across his plate with a sound like a fingernail on a blackboard.  “Really?”

“Yes, but you must wait until school is out for the summer, and you really have to act better.”

“Oh, I will, I will,” Bob said.

Well now, Bob was one happy dinosaur.  He quit throwing Kleenex down and bothering the dogs and the kids on the bus and his teachers, and in fact, he became a model citizen.  His school grades even picked up.

Finally, the big day came, and Fred and Karen bought Bob a suit of clothes and a nice John Deere cap, but Bob would have nothing to do with the new duds.  He wore his mouse ear hat and a sweatshirt he had bought at Goodwill with a faded picture of Mickey Mouse on it with the word Disneyland inscribed above it.  He even insisted on carrying a battered Disney lunchbox he had picked up at the Salvation Army, but other that that, he was very cooperative.

Fred gave Bob plenty of money and Karen gave him some tips on how to eat a balanced meal daily, and then they drove him to the airport in the back of the pickup.  Bob was so excited he could hardly sit still in the airport lounge, and when his seat section was called, he gave Fred and Karen quick kisses and pushed in front of an old lady and darted onto the plane.

As the plane lifted into the sky, heading for California and Disneyland, Karen said, “He’s so happy.  Do you think he’ll be all right by himself?”

“He’s very mature,” Fred said.  “He has his hotel arrangements, plenty of money, a snack in his lunchbox and lots of common sense.  He’ll be all right.”

At the end of the week, when it was time for Bob to return, Fred and Karen were not available to pick him up at the airport.  They made arrangements with the next-door neighbor, Sally, to do the job for them.  When they got home, they could hear Bob playing the stereo in the study, and they went down to see him.

The music was loud and heavy metal and Bob never listened to that sort of thing before.  The room smelled of smoke, and not cigarettes.  Bob was lying on the floor reading, and at first, Fred and Karen thought it was the Disney brochures, but then they saw those wadded up in the trashcan by the door.

Bob was looking at a girlie magazine and a reefer was hanging out of his mouth.  Fred looked at Karen and Karen was clearly shaken.

“Bob?” Fred said.

“Yeah,” Bob said without looking up from the foldout, and his tone was surly.

“Did you enjoy Disneyland?”

Bob carefully took the reefer out of his mouth and thumped ash on the carpet.  There was the faintest impression of tears in his eyes.  He stood up and tossed the reefer down and ground it into the carpet with his foot.

“Did…did you see Mickey Mouse?” Karen asked.

“Shit,” Bob said, “there isn’t any goddam mouse.  It’s just some gut in a suit.  The same with the duck.”  And with that, Bob stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door and they couldn’t get him out of there for the rest of the day.

© 1989 Joe R. Lansdale.
"Bob the Dinosaur Goes to Disneyland" was originally published in 1989 in Midnight Graffiti. It later appeared in Bestsellers Guaranteed, a collection of Lansdale’s short stories published by Ace Books, and in High Cotton: Selected Short Stories of Joe R. Lansdale, published in 2000 by Golden Gryphon Press.