The Dinosaur's Diary (Young Puffin Story Books) (3 page)

BOOK: The Dinosaur's Diary (Young Puffin Story Books)
13.32Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
Monday

Swinburne told me that this day is named after the moon. I asked him why none of the days are named after dinosaurs. He just laughed at me again and said that dinosaurs don’t
exist
here – apart from me, of course. Can this be true or is it just one of Swinburne’s jokes?

Tuesday

Tuesday is named after some ancient god called Tiu – don’t ask me why.

Two more of Swinburne’s and Swoop’s babies learned how to fly today. Swinburne is very proud of them, but Swoop seems a bit nervous. I think it’s still partly
me
she’s nervous of – in her head she knows I am harmless, but in her heart she is still half afraid that I plan to attack her babies, like the cat did last year.

What sort of creature is this dreaded Catosaurus? (I assume that is what ‘cat’ is short for.) I imagine a cross between Τ Rex and Megalosaurus.

The last baby swallow still sits in the nest going ‘Tweetatweetit!’ all day long and being fed beakfuls of flies.

I hope my babies will be a bit quieter and not so greedy. Oh, I can’t wait for them to be born!

Wednesday

Today is named after someone called Woden, who I gather is the god of farming. Apparently this place is called a farm, so I suppose that’s not so silly as some of their names for days.

I’ve seen a cat at last! What a surprise – she is no bigger than me! But the swallows are all terrified of her, and I must say there
is
something scary about her glinting green eyes and sharp-looking claws.

I crouched on my straw watching her as
she
crouched on the floor watching the swallows. They were zipping in and out on their fly-catching expeditions.

Every time a swallow flew a bit low the cat would raise her back end and wiggle it, ready to pounce. Once or twice she
did
pounce, but the swallows – even the baby ones – were too quick for her. She’d better not try pouncing on
my
babies when they’re born.

Thursday

This day is named after the god of thunder, and today there
was
a thunderstorm, a really dramatic one. Something else dramatic happened too.

I was watching Swinburne and Swoop trying to teach the last baby how to fly, when the sky grew dark. The swallows took no notice: they went on saying, ‘One, two, three, jump!’ and the baby perched on the edge of the nest kept on saying, ‘Not quite yet!’

Maybe the first flash of lightning dazzled the baby swallow or maybe the first thunderclap startled him into losing his balance.

The next three things happened as quickly as another flash of lightning: the baby bird fell out of the nest, the cat streaked into the barn and seized him in her mouth, and
I
rushed out of the junk corner and charged at the cat!

It was instinct. I didn’t have time to plan it or to feel afraid. But the cat got the fright of her life. When she spun round and saw me her fur stood on end and her green eyes widened as if she’d seen a ghost. She dropped the baby swallow and tore out of the barn in another blinding flash of lightning.

I raced after her, suddenly enjoying myself tremendously. Over the short green plants I chased her, and round the pond, startling the Quackosaurs. I was so close behind her that I could have caught her tail in my mouth, but I didn’t want to do that; I just wanted to make sure she stayed really frightened, so that she wouldn’t think about sneaking back into the barn.

What a change this was! Me, gentle little Hypsilophodon, chasing
after
someone instead of being chased!

The sky flashed and crashed and the rain came pelting down, drenching us both, but I didn’t mind. On and on we ran. We only stopped when we reached a tree. The cat shinned up it and I stood at the bottom glaring at her as fiercely as I knew how. As far as I know she’s still there, too scared to come down.

When I got back to the barn I was given the welcome of my life. The swallows flew round me in circles, congratulating me and offering me flies (which I politely refused – I can’t think of anything more disgusting).

Swinburne promised he would never laugh at me again and I pretended to believe him. The rescued baby, who had got over his shock, fluttered over and perched on my head. ‘I think I can fly now,’ he said. ‘But please, please, will you teach me how to run like you?’

But the most delighted swallow of all was Swoop. ‘Thank you! Thank you! You saved my baby!’ she kept twittering.

Suddenly I remembered the time that Euphocephalus back home had saved
my
life.

‘Don’t mention it, old girl,’ I said to Swoop. ‘You’d do the same for me.’

Friday, Several Weeks Later

This day is named after Frigga, the goddess of love. And that makes sense to me, because today I’m bursting with love myself. Can you guess who for? Here’s a clue: there are thirteen of them. Yes! My new babies! They hatched out this morning!

I can’t get over how tiny they are, right down to their sweet little toenails and the miniature spikes on their front paws. They are a lovely browny-green colour – well, the same colour as me, actually – and they all seem to love eating hay. Oh, I’m so happy!

I have chosen names for all the babies: the girls are Henrietta (she is the biggest one), Hermia, Hilda, Hannah, Hetty, Holly and Hope. The boys are Hardy, Humphrey, Hector, Howard, Hugh and Horace. Horace is quite a bit smaller than all the others but just as adorable.

Swinburne and Swoop came to admire the new arrivals, though I’m not sure if
admire
is quite the right word. They made all the right noises, but Swoop said, ‘They’re very nice, H, but what a shame they don’t have feathers.’ What a horrible thought! My babies are just perfect the way they are.

Saturday

This day is named after yet another god, one called Saturn, who went around eating his own children! It makes me shiver to think of it.

My own children are only a day old but already they are romping around like nobody’s business. I’m so scared that the farmer will discover them.

Today I had another visitor – the baby swallow I rescued, who has had a crush on me ever since. He is called Songo, after a place in Africa where the swallows spend every winter. Songo said it would soon be time for them to go there.

‘Will you come with us, H? Please!
Please!
You can bring the babies if you like.’

But that’s impossible. Apparently Africa is thousands of miles away, across a sea.

Sunday – A Week Later

Sorry about another gap, but looking after the babies has been a full-time job.

They have now learned to climb the stairs – all except one of them, little Horace. To tell the truth, I am a bit worried about Horace – as well as being so small, he’s much slower than the others.

The most advanced baby is Henrietta. In fact, I am convinced she is a genius.

Henrietta is fascinated by the controls of the Tractosaurus. Today, when she was up in the hay loft, she discovered a little rusty object which Swinburne told her was the starting key. She immediately took it downstairs in her mouth, poked it into a hole in the Tractosaurus and started wiggling it about. Of course the Tractosaurus didn’t start (thank goodness!) because it is old and broken.

When I told Henrietta about the other Tractosaurus, the big red one that the farmer drives, her eyes grew round with longing. But I told her she must never,
never
go anywhere near it. I don’t think she took a blind bit of notice: all she said was, ‘Stop calling it a Tractosaurus, Mum – it’s a tractor. You’re so old-fashioned.’

Oh, it is so hard being a mother! I want so desperately to protect all thirteen of them, but they are getting more adventurous every day.

BOOK: The Dinosaur's Diary (Young Puffin Story Books)
13.32Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Lovestruck by Julia Llewellyn
Shakespeare: A Life by Park Honan
The Last Command by Zahn, Timothy
Around the Bend by Shirley Jump
Purgatory Chasm: A Mystery by Steve Ulfelder
Snow Angel by Jamie Carie
Unmasking the Spy by Janet Kent