The Dinosaur's Diary (Young Puffin Story Books) (4 page)

We are just about to set out on a big adventure! We are going out to eat grass! (That is the name of the short green plant that is so common here.)

The babies have been guzzling the hay in the barn at an alarming rate. They can’t carry on like that or the farmer will notice and get suspicious.

So we are going to go out and graze at night, when the farmer isn’t around. We will have to be back in the barn before daylight.

The babies are all very excited. I can’t help feeling scared, but I mustn’t let them see that. The swallows have told me that there are some night-time hunters – creatures called owls and foxes – but apparently they are quite small, nothing like Τ Rex or Meg. If we all stick together in a herd we should be safe.

The grazing expedition was a success. It was a beautiful night with a full moon, just like the one that shines over the swamp back home. The only other animals we met were some white woolly ones, which ran away from us making a silly bleating noise.

The babies were quite good about sticking together, all except Henrietta, who kept trying to wander off in search of the red Tractosaurus. I told her off and she answered, ‘Stop nagging, Mum!’ but when I told her that the farmer locks it up at night she believed me and gave up.

As for the grass, the babies are potty about it and can’t wait to go out again tonight.

‘If you like grass, you should try horsetails!’ I told them, once we were back in the barn. Of course that led to the usual cries of, ‘Tell us about horsetails!’, ‘Tell us about Τ Rex!’, ‘Tell us about Triceratops!’ They love to hear stories about the swamp, and so do the swallows. By far the favourite story is the one about Euph whacking Τ Rex with the club at the end of her tail.

‘I want to meet Euph!’ said Henrietta. ‘Can’t we go back there, Mum? Oh, please!’

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘Oh, go on! Go on! Say yes! Don’t be so mean!’ Henrietta went on and on. I’m sure I never pestered
my
mother like that.

When I told her there weren’t any Tractosauruses in the swamp she eventually shut up.

‘If you ever do go, I want to go with you,’ said Songo, the baby swallow, from his usual place on top of my head. He had been sitting there listening to the stories.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Swoop told him. ‘You’re coming to Africa with us next week.’

I hadn’t realized the swallows were going so soon. We will all miss them. I wonder if we’ll still be here when they get back next spring. We can’t stay here for ever. The farmer would be bound to discover us, and then what? Swinburne has told me about a horrible place called the zoo where animals are kept in cages and people come and stare at them. I dread that happening to us.

But how would we get back to the swamp? And would it be such a good idea anyway? I can’t bear the thought of any of my babies being caught by Τ Rex or Meg. Poor little Horace is still very small and slow. It would be different if only we had some good weapons or armour, like Tri or Euph do. But all we’ve got are our useless thumb spikes.

Oh, the worry of it all!

Disaster! I am one baby short. Yes, one of my precious little ones has been caught by the farmer!

I blame myself, though it all happened because Henrietta was so determined to see the red Tractosaurus.

She’d been in a strange mood all night. While the rest of us were grazing she spent a lot of time collecting sheep’s wool from the hedges. (The sheep are the silly white creatures.)

‘Don’t be silly – you can’t eat that!’ I told her, but she just ignored me.

When it was time to round up the babies and go back to the barn I noticed we were one short. Henrietta wasn’t there. I called her but there was no answer.

The sun was rising and it was going to be a lovely day. Swinburne had told us that around this time of year the farmer would be starting work extra early, to begin on something called the ‘harvest’, which meant cutting down loads of plants. Any minute now he could be out in the fields.

It wasn’t difficult to guess what Henrietta was up to – she must have sneaked off to hide and catch a glimpse of the famous red Tractosaurus that she couldn’t get out of her mind.

I felt torn. I didn’t want to keep the others out a minute longer. We’d wandered quite a way from the barn and it would take longer than usual to get back – especially for little Horace. Perhaps the sensible thing to do would be to go back to the barn with them, but I couldn’t bear to leave Henrietta alone and in danger.

‘You run back,’ I told the others. ‘You know the way to the barn. I’ll look for Henrietta.’

It didn’t take very long to find her. It was the sheep that gave away her hiding place. A lot of them were clustered in the corner of the field bleating extra loudly. I went over to investigate. They didn’t run away – they’ve got used to us now. They seemed much more interested in one of the lambs, a rather strange, patchy-looking one.

Wait a second! That wasn’t a lamb at all. In between the patches of wool I could see browny-green skin – skin that I recognized. Dinosaur skin!

‘Henrietta!’ I said.

‘Oh, Mum, why do you have to spoil everything?’ said Henrietta.

She had rolled in some mud and then plastered herself with the sheep’s wool that she had been collecting.

‘What on earth did you do that for?’ I asked.

‘So the farmer won’t spot me, of course,’ said Henrietta. ‘I’m not stupid, Mum, though you seem to think so. I must see the red tractor, I must, I
must
!’

‘It’s coming now!’ said one of the sheep.

And sure enough, I could hear in the distance the dreadful roar that had scared me so much the day I arrived here. The red Tractosaurus was out, and it was coming our way!

‘Quick, Henrietta, run!’ I said.

But Henrietta wouldn’t. And I realized there was more chance that we would be spotted if we
did
run. The farmer probably wouldn’t notice Henrietta surrounded by sheep and covered in wool. I was in more danger of being seen than she was. But Henrietta ordered the sheep to cluster round me – she seems to have quite a way with them.

The noise grew louder. I crouched down and prayed I was blending in with the grass as the big red beast (yes, I know it’s not a beast really but I can’t stop thinking of it as one) came roaring past us. The farmer was sitting inside it, dressed in his strange floppy skin – sorry, clothes – holding the steering wheel and singing a song.

Henrietta was transfixed. ‘It’s
wonderful
!’ she said. ‘Oh, how I’d love to drive it!’

She sighed with longing. As for me, I sighed too – with relief. But relief was not what I should have been feeling, as I was soon to find out.

When we returned to the barn we were greeted by eleven anxious babies – yes, eleven, not twelve. They were all talking at once.

‘Horace!’

‘He was so slow!’

‘He couldn’t keep up!’

‘He still hasn’t got back!’

‘He must be lost!’

‘Or hurt!’

But Horace wasn’t lost or hurt. I know that now, because the swallows organized a search party. It was little Songo who brought back the terrible news.

‘Horace is in the farmhouse,’ he told us. ‘I looked through the window. He’s in a sort of basket with bars.’

‘That sounds like the cat basket!’ said Swinburne knowledgeably.

At that moment everything started spinning round and my knees gave way. The next thing I knew I was lying on the barn floor covered in swallows who were fanning me with their wings. Little Songo, perched on my head, was fanning up a hurricane. My own babies were gathered round anxiously.

‘You fainted, Mum,’ Henrietta told me. ‘But you’ll be fine, and so will Horace. We’re going to rescue him!’

‘But why is he in the cat basket?’ I asked. ‘Is the farmer going to feed him to the cat?’

‘No,’ said Swinburne. Usually he laughs at my mistakes, but things were too serious. ‘But maybe he’s planning to take him to the vet. Songo, I want you to fly straight back to the farmhouse and find out all you can. Watch what the farmer does and listen to anything he says.’

‘What’s a vet?’ I asked faintly when Songo had flown off. ‘Is it a kind of zoo?’

‘No, the vet is a person who knows a lot about animals and looks after them when they’re ill,’ Swinburne told me. ‘Sometimes he comes to the farm. I saw him sticking a needle into one of the sheep once.’

That sounded dreadful! But I knew that even worse things could happen to animals – they could be eaten, or locked up. I wanted to charge to the farmhouse then and there and defend my baby. But Swoop talked me out of it.

‘I know just how you feel, my dear,’ she said, ‘but it wouldn’t be wise. Wait till our Songo gets back with some more news and then we can decide what to do.’

So we waited. And waited. It was getting dark by the time Songo flew into the barn and back on to my head.

‘Horace is all right so far,’ he told us. ‘But I heard the farmer talking to someone on the telephone.’ (Whatever that is.) ‘He’s planning to take Horace somewhere in the car tomorrow.’

‘Do you know at what time?’ Swinburne asked.

‘Yes – half past eleven. He said that would be a good time to take a break from the harvesting.’

‘What’s a car?’ I asked, and was horrified to learn that it was something like a Tractosaurus but much faster.

‘Does it have tyres?’ Henrietta asked, and her eyes lit up when she learned that it did. I turned on her then. ‘How can you be getting all excited about a machine at a time like this?’ I said to her. ‘Don’t you realize that your little brother’s life is in danger?’ And then – perhaps unfairly – I added, ‘And what’s more, you got him into this danger!’

‘Yes,’ said Henrietta, ‘and I’m going to get him out of it!’

Songo looked worried. ‘I don’t see how,’ he said. ‘I flew all round the farmhouse looking for a way in, but all the doors and windows were shut.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Henrietta. ‘Just tell me if there’s somewhere near the farmhouse we could hide for the night.’

‘What, all of you?’

‘Yes. It has to be somewhere where we can see the farmer but he can’t see us.’

Songo thought for a minute. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘There’s a big haystack in the field next to the house. Maybe you could hollow it out and hide in there.’

I felt I was being left behind. ‘But we don’t
all
need to go, surely?’ I asked.

‘Yes, Mum, we do,’ said Henrietta. ‘As soon as you and I have rescued Horace we all need to be ready to run.’

‘To run where?’

‘Somewhere, anywhere – but not back to the barn. We can’t stay here any longer, it’s just too dangerous.’

‘There are some woods across the road from the farm – maybe you could go there,’ suggested Swinburne.

‘But I don’t want you to go!’ said Songo. ‘If you do go, I’m going with you!’

‘No,’ said Swoop, gently but firmly. ‘You’re coming to Africa with us, remember? The woods would be too cold for you in winter.’

‘But how are we going to rescue Horace?’ I asked Henrietta.

‘Don’t worry, Mum – I’m working on it,’ was all she would say.

What on earth is she planning? And what is the farmer planning to do with Horace? Whatever it is, we must stop him!