I’d just been busted for giving the chimpanzees water balloons when I first heard something was wrong at Hippo River.
The opening words of the book serve a number of important purposes. First and foremost, they give an indication of the type of boy that the narrator/protagonist is: an impish little prankster. Within this situational aspect is another element more focused on the narrative in that right from the opening the plot is commented upon: something bad happens to a hippo. And since an upside-down hippo with a black X over each indicating death is featured on the cover, one can well assume that what happens is about as bad as it gets. And finally, the reference to chimps and Hippo River is indicative of some sort of wildlife locale. Any mystery as to the particulars has likely been dispelled already, of course, by the inclusion of a “map” of FunJungle on the pages just inside the cover. Still, a used copy might not allow the reader to benefit from this prefatory information if the book is in particularly bad condition. Even so, it is not necessary: the opening paragraphs serve to throw the reader right into the thick of the story from the get-go.
“Think about it: If you went up to just about anyone and said, `How would you kill a hippopotamus?’ how many of them would say ‘Give it peritonitis’? I’ll bet most people don’t even know what peritonitis is. A normal person would have shot Henry. Or poisoned him. Or stuck some live wires in his pool and electrocuted him. But to feed him a bunch of filed jacks to poke holes in his intestine? Would you have known that would kill a hippo?”
When Summer McCracken was a little girl not yet seven-years-old her billionaire father J.J. presented her a fabulous choice: any vacation she wanted to go on anywhere in the world was hers for the asking. One of the few things J.J. found out even he was not rich enough to buy was a place in a safari for a six-year-old girl. Most likely because of insurance rates and all that. So, he did the next best thing: he built FunJungle for his daughter. (And, truth be told, for himself and his many offshore bank accounts, but don’t that ruin your enjoyment.) Summer is now a teenager who is among the first to believe Teddy’s seemingly ridiculous story that the park’s mascot and star attraction, Henry the Hippo, has been murdered. When you want someone to believe an outrageous story—whether you are a twelve-year-old boy or not—toss in the word “peritonitis” and prepared to be amazed at how quickly you begin to be taken seriously.
In retrospect, it seems crazy that I ran after a tiger that had just tried to attack me, but that’s how safe I felt with Dad around. He went after the tiger and before I knew it, Mom and I were following. Maybe it was that, within a second, Dad had established his dominance and reduced the tiger from a wild animal to an overgrown housecat. Much of an animal’s behavior involves its position in the dominance hierarchy. An animal that doesn’t know its place will be confused and agitated. However, one that knows its place—even if it's on the bottom—will be far more relaxed.
Impressionable readers are advised not to take this concept too seriously. In other words: do not try this at home! The point of this scene is not to show that animals are so easily manipulated, but rather than Teddy’s father—who isn’t a typical 9-to-5 sort of dad—comes through in the clutch. Teddy may be isolated from his parents, but physical absence is not an indication of any other kind of absence. Teddy is on his own or reliant upon Summer for much of the narrative, but when it counts his dad is there and ready to do what needs to be done. It’s a message, but not one delivered too ham-handedly. Still, don’t do what Teddy’s dad does. Or Teddy, for that matter.
