The Dinosaur Keeper

Chapter 12

The knock had come early in the morning and Rex knew better than to race to the front door.

No glimpse would ever be seen, the owner of the gentle, familiar tap would have vanished without a trace.

He had been awake just after the turn of Chunk, a good couple of hours before the alarm sounded, which in itself would have given him plenty of time before the working day commenced.

It was the sixty-seventh firm, but gentle knock of its kind and as if to prove it, here he was with the number brightly displayed on a tag attached to his collar.

68, or Pooetesleap as he would now be known, looked a lot grumpier than his predecessor, but Rex knew this would change.

67 would never be forgotten, never, but in all honesty they always looked the same and somehow knew what to do, mimicking their ancestor’s behaviour to the finest of details.

It’s not that Rex didn’t care and hadn’t spent a sleepless night, thinking about the previous Pooetesleap’s fate. But it happened with such alarming regularity, that Rex had become accustomed to his faithful friends renewal. Although they did seem to be in a bad mood the first couple of hours after arrival, as if reminding him what had happened and that he had better not let it happen to them.

To be fair, he had been amazed at 67’s longevity, it had been at least four months.

16, for instance, had lasted barely two weeks, before being carried off by Bob, whimpering in shock after the Rogue Creature’s surprise appearance.

Still as Rex patted the new Pooetesleap, sadness cast over his memories and resolve replaced the sickening emotion.

Never again, it was time he was caught.

The dog merely sniffed sharply toward Rex and pattered off toward the kitchen. Glugging could be heard a few minutes later and Rex decided that things would eventually fall back into place, even if it would be a bit awkward for a few days.

He peeked around the kitchen door and marvelled at the similarity of the Red-Setters. He was exactly the same, exactly! It was uncanny, he even seemed to slurp the water with the same gusto as 67 and Rex decided there and then to think no more about it.

There was one last thing of course, and Rex walked purposefully toward the front door, swinging it open, the familiar manila envelope sat in the middle of the porch.

Bent down to pick it up he chuckled at the address label, reading the first line that stated his name, as if anybody else would think it was for them.

Slipping a finger between the flap and the paper backing, he jerked the letter out before standing fully up and began to read it as he went back to the kitchen.

Putting the coffee on, he skimmed along well-known lines half taking them in, scanning for the part that mattered.

After several lines of ‘We know this is a difficult time’, which eventually quickened in severity to end ‘but you really should be more careful’, and a couple of legal paragraphs that contradicted themselves, proving that the note writer was at the very least a distant cousin of the Dinosaur Manual author or authors, he settled on the one required.

‘Please find standing to the side of this letter, one standard issue Red-Setter’, it began, as the coffee started to bubble, Rex noticing the flames licking the pot for the first time.

‘We are truly sorry for your loss, and hope at this time of mourning that some comfort will be found with your new companion’, the coffee aromas started to tease Rex’s nostrils gently, and he sniffed his approval.

’However this is you 69th such reissue’, it continued the number written by hand in different ink.

‘Quite frankly it is a little astonishing that one person can get through so many animals and be so careless. Red-Setters don’t grow on trees you know!’ the coffeepot sprang to life, its ceramic edges jarring on the cast iron hob.

“No indeed, we have to breed them to exacting regulations, which can take months at a time and don’t get me started on the training! So naturally the expense cannot be solely born by us,’

Here it comes, thought Rex, how much this time, one hundred, one-fifty?

“So a small deduction will be taken from next months pay, totalling £300.00’, and with this the spout exploded, showering coffee all round the kitchen.

‘Three hundred pounds!’ exclaimed Rex both with rage, and through the pain of coffee which was rapidly staining the front of his shirt.

Rushing to the sink he threw a glass of water over himself and the scolding eased, diluting the black blotch on the front of his shirt to a much more appealing brown.

“Three hundred pounds”, he continued again, “But I, what…”, stopping for a second time as quickly as he had begun, slowly massaging his chin.

There was really very little he could do nothing in fact, but with all the dry cleaning of late it wouldn’t leave him much at the end of the month.

Never mind, he quickly thought, nothing to spend it on anyway! With this he stamped his foot hard on the tiled kitchen floor and promptly slipped over cracking his head on the side of the counter top.

On his knees some time later, cursing while mopping up the rest of the coffee that had so easily made him slip, Rex’s rumbling stomach told him it hadn’t eaten yet. Even though he had got up with plenty of time, falling over, shouting about money and reading the note had meant little was left.

He was just about to make his way upstairs when three letters at the bottom of his most recent dog related correspondence caught his attention.

’Read urgently’, it stated boldly.

This had never appeared before and Rex, forgetting the ever decreasing minutes, simply stared at it long and hard, unsure whether to act on its instruction.

Slowly and very deliberately Rex turned the page over, setting it down and smoothing out the creases on the kitchen table.

He leant over and just looked at the amount of writing first.

The letters were big and hurried, as if added quickly.

’I’ve been watching you, you’re doing brilliantly, much better than all the others’, it began and Rex was stunned into widening his eyes, determined to take in every letter.

’Time is short, you’re almost there’ the note carried on, ’It will all be over sooner than you think, but will test every ounce of your being. Go with your instincts but hurry, I know you can do it, best wishes Num’, and then it stopped as quickly as it began.

Best wishes Num? He didn’t know any Num. Come to think of it he didn’t know anyone, well nobody that would admit to knowing him. Apart from Max of course and Pooetesleap for that matter, but Max would just come and talk to him and Pooetesleap couldn’t write as far as he knew.

“You can’t write can you?” he said to a vacant looking new Pooetesleap, who stopped chasing his tail for just enough time to look at Rex Blankly.

“Never mind”, Rex said to his confused chum, patting him on his head and heading out of the kitchen toward the front door.

But as he took the short steps to where his coat was hanging, deciding that when he put it on it would cover the coffee stain, he couldn’t help but ponder.

Time is short? No shorter than any other day!

What a peculiar thing to say about a heavily regimented cube shaped planet. The only thing you could count on with Chunk was the startlingly regulated presentation of time, and its lack of any seasons that helped block out the thought of any day being different to the last.

‘Go with your instincts but hurry’?

No time for instincts, my rapidly scrawling friend, I have a dinosaur to catch, mused Rex, deciding then and there to think no more about it.

With this he stepped out the front door and breathed in deeply, another morning on Chunk, another start to the day.

The whistle sounded and Pooetesleap rushed passed Rex toward the plains, bolting at such a pace that you could mistake it for purpose. Rex smiled as the dog skidded to a halt, turning to chase his tail and then another imaginary dog.

The more things changed the more they stayed the same.

He was a little agitated that despite his careful alarm setting and planning that he still hadn’t managed breakfast, but took solace in eating his lunch at three minutes passed nine. Dinner would simply have to become lunch and supper would be dinner.

Nice and simple.

One thing he had managed is to pack his bag. This firstly meant he had a sandwich, handy with all the missing of breakfast and so forth, but also meant that he was presently struggling to walk and redness was appearing on his left hand side shoulder.

His satchel was heavy, extremely so, but this should be of no surprise, as currently it held The Dinosaur Keeper’s Manual, Four Hundred and Seventy-Sixth edition.

The plains seemed a lot further today and Rex had to eventually give in to gravity and drag the satchel along, until he was facing the healthy tree trunks on the nearest side to the house by the edge of the fields.

Having taken him a good half an hour to get here, Rex decided a spot of coffee was in order and quickly sat down, pouring himself a large cup.

Drinking in the aromas before literally drinking the contents of his cup, he placed his other hand in the satchel and tugged at the manual.

After much slipping and sliding he gave in, rested the coffee on a nearby rock and pulled at the book with both hands until it plopped on to the grass.

Flicking through the pages he turned to number 965 and read the now familiar opening line,

‘Please note trapping of Animals is strictly forbidden.’

Rex chuckled at this and for the first time, deciding to gaze around the plains, noticed something quite peculiar.

The rest of the dinosaurs were, for want of better words, looking at him.

They weren’t directly staring at him of course, they never took an interest in anything he did, but Rex had noted that they were pretending not to look, which was much more obvious than actually staring.

Henry was the first one to make a casual passing glance and a more obvious squint. To be fair even if he was a master at masking curiosity it would still prove impossible to conceal interest in anything. A Diplodocus’ eye is about the size of the average persons head, so even if you were presently engaged in licking your hind quarters, as Henry was, the surreptitious peek as you turned your head from left to right, was plain for everybody to see.

With this Rex gave a little cough, hand clenched in a fist poised at his lips, and quietly stated,

“Ah yes! Page 965, how to trap an animal, most interesting.”

He then lent back slightly and exaggerated the turning of pages, even though he was already on the correct one, nodding deeply and agreeing with himself through murmurs.

Happy with his performance so far, Rex then moved his head fiercely from left to right, pretending to read the text thoughtfully and occasionally agreeing with his imaginary new knowledge.

The Velociraptors were at the edge of their paddocks now and through the corner of his eye Rex could see them spearheaded, leaning over the fence, jostling for best position.

Rex turned his gaze just a fraction, to the craning necks of the Velociraptors, but apparently this was a step too far, as Rupert led them in running to the other side of the paddock, where they casually looked in any direction but Rex, making inconspicuous actions obvious.

It was at this time that a small thud was heard on his left shoulder and a white sticky mound dripped purposely down Rex’s jacket sleeve.

Looking up he saw the owner of said poo, as the flock of Pterodons took off high in to the air, all the branches of the trees vibrating angrily, relieved from the weight of their pointy beaked visitors.

Rex folded up his jacket inwards, so the mess was contained within the cloth itself. He wasn’t annoyed at all, having never had so much interest from the Dinosaurs before and was really quite enjoying it.

He also felt bad that he couldn’t recount any of the Pterodons by name. A few of the Velociraptors could be recognized and, upon prompting, one or two could probably be recalled, Rupert being instantly recognisable for example. The Diplodocus’ were also much more distinguishable. Being so vast he could notice the differences between them more easily, Henry definitely being the leader as it was him alone that spoke, although only when absolutely necessary.

But the Pterodons just spent so much time in the air that he couldn’t make head nor tail of them, quite literally. Or they were taking shelter up in the tops of the trees, thinly disguised by many branches. In all honesty Rex wasn’t even sure that they could speak, not recalling one sentence ever passed by them, either to him or one of the others in their flock.

The Stegosaurus’ weren’t even worth mentioning, snooty old chunkites!

He pondered for a bit, and then realised time was slipping away as Chunk jolted into a quarter to eleven.

As the Sun came into full effect, the beams shone down warming Rex and highlighting the text he should be reading.

He looked at the diagram, that had previously sent him to sleep a few nights ago, and this time actually read the passage.

There wasn’t much of it to be quite frank, just the drawings ‘fig. 1’ of a Dumdum approaching a wooden cage propped open with another stick so it leant at a forty five degree angle, and then ‘fig. 2’ which was the hapless Dumdum imprisoned in the cage, the twig having been tugged away.

The cage itself was pretty simple, upright twigs with horizontal ones weaved between them, to make a sort of grid on each side.

Rex gazed at the trees again and although unconvinced by the simplicity and blatancy of the trap, decided to press on regardless, having to have some kind of starting point even if he thought it fruitless.

The cage would have to be big, massive in fact, but it was achievable.

Gathering enough wood was even easier. He had picked the forest nearest the house as it had previously been a lot larger. One of the Diplodocus’ had accidentally swished its tail in the old part of the forests direction, being fast asleep and having a sort of a nightmare. Upon waking himself and most of the other inhabitants of Chunk, everyone was greeted by the sight of about half an acre of woodland splintered and flattened.

The Diplodocus’ had been mortified at this and thus the whole herd decided not to take shelter in the woodlands at night anymore, they now toughed it out in the rain on the plains.

Rex had been slightly perturbed at the time, unsure as to whether this would be seen as his mistake and a deduction made from that months pay packet.

Nothing had been taken from him however and now he looked at the seasoned logs with relish, realising most of the heavy work was done.

However, trapping Bob would not be a good idea this close to the rest of the dinosaurs and he had already decided on the Circle of Light being the best place, close to Bob’s lair and far enough away from everybody else.

So how did he get the logs from here to the middle of the forest?

On his feet again, determined to follow an idea before he talked himself out of it, he ran back toward the house eventually coming to a halt just short to admire his newly prized possession.

Although previously tagged useless and occasionally getting a good kick when Rex stubbed a toe on it, there glinting, albeit rather rustily, in the midmorning Sun was the tractor.

Walking passed its back end he affectionately brushed its orange wheel arches and admired the trailer at the back. Perfect!

With this he strode purposefully to the front seat and sat in the driver’s position.

He knew a bit about the tractor, Max had made him turn it over on his second day here, stating it was a labour saving device, before arching the top of his eyes, as if Rex should know what that was.

Feeling slightly daft Rex had managed an unconvincing,

“Ah, of course labour saving thingy!” before turning the key and promptly leaping back about a hundred metres.

The noise had been terrific, not helped by him pushing down on the shiny pedal as he jumped back, which seemed to encourage the already tremendous sound. So now, sitting sideways on the front seat for a fast exit if necessary, he tensed his face and squinted as a finger and thumb cautiously attempting to turn the key for the second time in his life.

Twisting it tentatively, there was a chug-chug-chug, as if the tractor was trying to make itself sick. Omitting a small puff of black smoke, it eventually decided to become completely silent.

Rex sat for a second, before running back to the plains.

Thumbing his way to the index he looked up the ’T’s in the back of the Manual.

Finding tractor and flipping to page fifty, he read aloud ‘General Maintenance’ before spotting the subsection he needed on the facing page.

There he noticed a little lip on at the bottom of the sheet. He tugged at it and the largest diagram in the whole of Chunk unfolded before his eyes.

It was pale blue, with hundreds of bold black words scrawled on it, arrows pointing to various parts of the page. Then embossed in a darker blue was a picture of the tractor from all sides, dissected and labelled in accordance to which side and part you wanted to know about.

This was going to take for ever!

Rex spotted a square at the top right hand quarter of the page and read aloud again “General Engine Safeguarding”.

‘Keeping your tractor engine in tip-top shape can be done even if you’re not a mechanic’, it began rather warmly.

‘There is nothing worse than trying to save some precious time and even more precious leg work, by neglecting your maintenance, only then to hear that all-too-familiar cough and splutter from the exhaust pipe (see fig 18).’

Rex gave the number on the chart a quick glance, and noted it was the vertical pipe that had rather ungenerously given a small puff of smoke earlier.

‘More often than not,’ it continued, ‘Just a little TLC and precautionary repairs could have prevented the fact that you are now running around like a lunatic, wishing you had read this passage previously, whilst being soaked by a torrential downpour.’

Interesting thought Rex, but not helpful at all, he skipped down to a section called ‘Trouble Shooting and General Checks’.

‘If for any reason the engine is unresponsive you should test the spark, run a compression test, pressure test the lower unit, check the seals and radiator, and, in general, go over the motor in such a manner as to eliminate most causes of breakdown. After you have had your annual check-up there are many things that you can do to help assure that you make it through the season without being towed home.’

A compression what? Seals? Radiator? Rex let the book slide a little toward the ground as he rubbed one hand over his mouth and cheeks.

Tightening his grip, he looked down at his thumb and noticed the only part of the page with writing in italics and lots of exclamation marks.

’Of course remember to make sure you have plenty of petrol! You don’t’ want to run out miles away from anywhere! That would be daft! JUST DON’T DO IT!!!’

Rex hurtled toward the shed again as, in his mind, was the word ‘Gaso’ or ‘Casgo’, for some reason and the image of a grimy green, square tin.

There it was, buried under a pile of junk and heavy with a blanket of cobwebs, the green metal tin with a spout at the end with the words ‘Gasgo - gets you there faster! For all your petrol needs!’

Grabbing it Rex realised why it was so familiar.

It was used to prop up all the larger gardening implements, like the spade and the hoe, which promptly fell on him having been relieved of their support, bashing him about the head and body.

Vainly attempting to pick them up, as they jutted out at different angles beneath his arms as his attention was drawn from one to another, Rex eventually gave up and hurled them to the ground. With his concentration now fully on the can he shook it from side to side and gurgling responded.

Approaching the tractor and opening the door at the front that concealed the engine, he looked thoughtfully around its many parts. He knew how to do this, as when the tractor had eventually stopped making all the noise after the first time he had turned the key and spluttered to a stop, Rex had come out from the tree he had been hiding behind and cautiously had a good look over the machine, determined never to be frightened by it again.

Having jumped up and down in the seat for a good few minutes, enjoying the springiness, he had eventually gone to the front and placed a hand on the front horizontal door, seeing the word ‘bonnet’ labelled brightly on it and wondering why anybody would name a door. Clicking it open he had marvelled at the dirtiness of it, and the amount of square metal things, lids and pipes.

He flipped one of these lids open now and peered inside, it had in it a clear liquid, which looked like water, and Rex flipped the lid of the Gasgo container to compare the two.

Nope the stuff in the Gasgo container was black, luridly so, he definitely didn’t want to pour it in there.

He flipped open another lid and looked in there too, the liquid looked similar but was more a caramel colour, and Rex noted on top of the lid was the word ‘oil’, so that was a no go as well.

He’d run out of lids, and reluctantly headed back to the plains to read the rest of the chapter, resigned to the fact that the remainder of the day would be spent trying to work out where the petrol went.

Brushing passed the back of the tractor again, his trouser pocket was pulled at, a creaking noise resonating.

Looking down, a little door presently had its corner wedged in the lining of his pocket, the other side attached to wheel arch of the tractor.

Rex glanced in, seeing a large green cap shaped like the cog of a clock.

Gently he unscrewed it and, upon removal, was greeted by a foul stench, which made him slightly light headed.

Moving away, his nose tingled with familiarity and Rex reluctantly sniffed at the Gasgo in his hand.

They smelt the same!

Carefully he poured the contents of the can into the pipe and re-screwed the cog tightly down.

Flipping the door back, Rex sat in the driver’s seat and turned the key.

The tractor coughed, spluttered, choked, before loudly roaring and blasting thick black smoke from the exhaust.

Quickly turning the key the other way again and silence slowly returned, the tractor shaking the last of its life out.

It worked.

He turned the key again and was surprised that he was slightly more accustomed to the sound, the engine ticking reassuringly in front of him.

“Go forward!” he commanded, and sat there expectantly, nothing happening.

“Straight ahead!” he bellowed again, this also replied with absolutely nothing.

Frustrated he hit the centre of the steering wheel in front of him and stamped his foot down.

He had hit the shiny pedal again and the engine roared in front of him, a stick poking up at forty-five degrees besides him shaking violently.

Rex, gently this time, pushed the shiny peddle again, and was greeted with the same terrific roar.

Looking at the stick, and noting it had three grooves, the one it currently nestled in proudly displayed ‘Park’.

One below it said ‘Reverse’, the one above ‘Drive’.

He clicked it into drive and absolutely nothing happened.

Sweet baby Chunker in a basket! This must be the most complicated machine in the whole of Chunk! Thought Rex, and stamped his foot again.

The engine roared for the third time and Rex shot off toward the house.

Panicking he stamped a second time, on the large rubber pedal, and the tractor slammed to a halt, making Rex hit his head on the windscreen.

It wasn’t long before Rex had mastered driving, kangarooing around the small yard at the side of the house before taking it toward the plains. There had been another brief moment of panic when he’d realised that the tractor was going straight towards the house at some speed, but had quickly realised that the inside wheel allowed him to go from left to right.

So Rex presently found himself at the end of a long afternoon stacking the final log on the tractors aluminium trailer, and lashing the massive pile down.

At this point Max presented himself, and although softly saying,

“Only me!”

Rex still leapt back about ten metres before finally seeing the missing toe and relaxing. His eyes were a bit puffy, red round the edges, as if the great tyrannosaurus had just woken up.

Idle chunkite, thought Rex, getting up at this hour while I’m doing all the work.

Before he could say anything, however, Max continued,

“Good, good, excellent even! You seem to have everything going to plan. Just here to have a quick word with the rest of the gang!”, and with this plodded off toward the other dinosaurs, still shouting ‘Only me!’ so not to frighten them.

Rex hated this familiarity that Max had, both with the other Dinosaurs and with himself.

As he approached Henry, dinosaurs darted from everywhere toward him, a couple of the Velociraptors almost knocking Rex down in their haste to greet there much admired friend.

They all seemed to be cooing around Max and envy shot right through Rex.

Hanging on every word, Max would greet them all affectionately, winking occasionally at a Pterodon or patting one of the juvenile Diplodocus.

Even the Stegosaurus’ seemed quite animated when he was around, still in stunned silence, but veneration in every glance.

The second part of loathing, from Rex, was the familiarity at a project that he couldn’t have the slightest inkling at.

How did he know if something was good or excellent?

How could everything in his view, be ‘going to plan’, when he didn’t even know what Rex was attempting to do?

The jealously eventually subsided after its initial flood and Rex felt slightly ashamed at his ill thoughts toward his longest known friend.

It wasn’t his fault that he was popular, and Rex realised all this projected resentment was stopping him from a more important task, listening in.

Although Max was rubbish at volume control, the sheer amount and size of bodies currently crowded around him acted as a sort of sound barrier.

So there was only the occasional word to be heard, and the eavesdropping strained every part of Rex’s body.

He heard the occasional sentence like, “It‘s okay, I’ll do that” and “Eventually it must”, as the Dinosaurs moved from side to side, sporadically letting little sound bites rush toward him.

Some hours later towards the end though, Max was known for his lengthy speeches, as the Dinosaurs had departed Max left one parting comment,

“Had to happen eventually, looks like there’s a plan though”.

Max had looked straight at Rex this time and rather than looking embarrassed, knowing full well that he had been overheard, he almost appeared proud as their gazes met.

It all seemed a bit over sentimental in all honesty, he was only going into the forest for a bit, until Bob could be contained.

With this he decided there was no point putting it off and so with Pooetesleap by his side Rex fired up the tractor again, slipped it into drive and headed back towards the house.

It strained a lot more, with its current load, but soon became accustomed to the weight, and merrily chugged along, quite happy to be of some use after such a long time asleep.

Coming up to the side of the porch, Rex turned the massive steering wheel heavily and pointed it toward the woods, staring at the trees intently as if willing himself on.

He stroked Pooetesleap affectionately and tapped the Dinosaurs Manual in his satchel, gaining some kind of reassurance from this.

For no known reason Rex pumped the accelerator pedal up and down and was greeted by a low throbbing grunt which pierced the otherwise silent land.

Gently, taking as much care as handling fine china, Rex slipped the stick into drive and squeezed the accelerator pedal.

A second later they had broke through the undergrowth and were on their way.

The Circle of Light was ahead and the beginning started.