A Zoo of Tradition

Mr. Grumbles, with a chest puffed out like a proud pigeon, led Pinky through the gates of his zoo. “Observe, child,” he boomed, his voice echoing slightly off the sturdy brick walls, “This is a zoo of substance! Of order! Of… well, animals that actually *are* animals!” He gestured grandly at a rather sleepy lion who blinked slowly before resuming his nap. “No frivolous nonsense here, thank you very much. Just the tried and true. The… predictable.”

Pinky, a vibrant splash of pink against the muted browns and greys of the zoo’s established order, bounced on the balls of her tiny feet. Her square body wiggled with an energy that seemed to vibrate the very air around her. “Predictable is… fine, Mr. Grumbles! But imagine if a giraffe suddenly decided to wear polka-dot socks! Or if a penguin could tap-dance! Wouldn’t that be a delightful surprise?”

Mr. Grumbles stopped dead, his eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline. He stared at Pinky as if she’d just suggested painting the elephants with glitter. “Polka-dot socks? Tap-dancing penguins? Young lady, you are speaking of absurdity! Animals are to be observed, cataloged, and appreciated for their natural… their *naturalness*.” He huffed, adjusting his spectacles. “This zoo is a testament to the unadorned beauty of the animal kingdom. Take this elephant, for instance.” He pointed to a rather large, grey elephant placidly munching on hay. “Majestic. Powerful. Entirely sock-free.”