The Dinosaur in the Boot

At the bottom of the garden, right beside the wooden fence, grew the rhubarb. Its leaves were as wide as umbrellas, green and crinkly and cool. Leo always peeked under them before bedtime, just in case a toad had stopped by for a visit.

Tonight, there was no toad. Instead, nestled in the damp black dirt, lay an egg.

It was smooth, round as an orange, and speckled with little purple dots.

"Look at that," Leo said softly.

He leaned closer. Snap.

The egg gave a little wobble. Then it gave a big shudder. A zigzag line cracked right down the middle, and with a soft pop, two blue scaly toes poked out. Next came a round belly, two stubby arms, and a bright blue crest shaped like a half-moon.

It was a dinosaur. A very green, very round, remarkably small dinosaur, no bigger than a teacup.

The creature blinked its yellow eyes, opened its mouth wide, and let out a gigantic yawn.

"Haaah," went the dinosaur. It rubbed its snout against Leo's thumb.

Leo grinned. "You're brand new," he whispered, "and you're already sleepy."

The dinosaur gave a tiny squeak and toddled after Leo as he stepped toward the path. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter went its little claws on the gravel. Every three steps, it stopped, stretched its jaw until its eyes squeezed shut, and yawned again.

"We need to find you a bed," said Leo.

First, Leo spotted a red clay flowerpot resting on the garden bench. It had a neat layer of dried potting soil inside. Leo picked up the baby dinosaur and set it inside the rim.

The dinosaur turned around once. It turned around twice. It tried to sit down, but clay does not bend. The little creature tapped its tail against the side with a sharp clack.

"Peep!" said the dinosaur, shaking its blue crest firmly.

"Too hard," Leo agreed, lifting him back out. "Definitely too hard."

The dinosaur trotted close behind Leo's sneakers, yawning so hard that its tail wobbled in the air.

Next was the red wheelbarrow parked near the shed. Inside lay a pile of dry autumn leaves, yellow and crunchy.

"Here," Leo coaxed cheerfully. "Try this one."

He set the dinosaur down in the middle of the leaves. The dinosaur curled its tail around its nose and closed its eyes. It looked comfortable for about three seconds. Then the metal wheelbarrow gave a sudden, high-pitched skreee-onk as the front wheel shifted on a pebble.

The dinosaur scrambled straight up, its blue crest trembling.

"I know, I know," Leo said with a quiet chuckle. "Far too squeaky. A bed shouldn't make noise while you're trying to dream."

He scooped up the little creature, who rested its heavy chin right on Leo's wrist.

They walked toward the back porch. On the grass sat the stone birdbath, shallow and smooth. The dinosaur peered over the edge, gave a hopeful sniff, and stepped right in with one foot.

Splash.

The dinosaur froze. It lifted its dripping foot, shook it in the evening air, and looked up at Leo with a very offended frown.

"Too wet," Leo said, wiping the scaly foot on his shirt sleeve. "A birdbath is for robins, not dinosaurs."

The little dinosaur leaned against Leo's knee, its eyelids drooping lower and lower. It gave another huge, trembling yawn that made its whole body shudder. It was running out of steam.

Leo looked around the porch. What was soft, but not wet? What was snug, but not noisy?

Then he saw it, tucked by the bottom step: Dad's old gardening boot. It was made of worn brown leather, floppy at the top, perfectly still, and dry as a bone.

"Wait right there," Leo told the sleepy dinosaur.

Leo ran to the edge of the stone path where thick, green moss grew like a carpet. He peeled away a patch—cool, spongy, and clean. He folded the green moss and slid it all the way down into the toe of the boot, making a thick, springy cushion.

"Give this a try," Leo said.

He lifted the dinosaur and lowered it into the boot.

The little creature slid down into the mossy hollow. It turned around once. It gave a soft, contented grunt. Its blue crest rested neatly against the rolled-down leather cuff. The boot didn't squeak. The moss wasn't hard. There wasn't a drop of water anywhere.

The dinosaur tucked its nose beneath its tiny scaly arm.

Yellow light from the porch lamp shone down, making a warm circle on the wooden floor.

Leo sat on his heels and stroked the blue crest with one fingertip. The dinosaur's breathing grew slow and steady.

"Goodnight, little dinosaur," Leo whispered. "I'll see you right here in the morning."

The dinosaur's tail gave one tiny, sleepy twitch, and then it was completely still, fast asleep in the old brown boot.