The Dinosaur's Diary (Young Puffin Story Books) (5 page)

Why did I ever complain about the spikes on my front paws? I thought they were pretty useless weapons, but today has proved me wrong.

Today has also proved what a star Henrietta can be. Yes, she’s strong-willed; yes, she’s disobedient; yes, she can be pretty rude to me, but when it comes to planning a rescue operation you couldn’t beat her.

The babies enjoyed hollowing a tunnel through the haystack and snuggling inside it. The swallows tidied up the hay we’d scooped out. They built some of it into a kind of screen at the front of the tunnel, so that no one could see us.

The screen of hay was quite thin, though, and we could see out. We could see the farmhouse (where the farmer lives), the tractor shed (where the red Tractosaurus lives) and the dreaded car which stood outside. Actually, the car didn’t look too scary – it was a lot smaller than the Tractosaurus – but Swinburne says it can run even faster than
me
when the farmer is inside it.

We tried to sleep while the swallows kept watch.

Early in the morning the farmer came out of his house, took the Tractosaurus out of the shed and drove off to the fields.

‘He’s out of sight,’ twittered Swinburne.

‘Off we go, Mum,’ said Henrietta.

The two of us crept out of the haystack. The others wanted to come too but we wouldn’t let them. It was too risky.

Henrietta and I trotted over to the car, which was glinting blue in the new daylight.

Henrietta’s eyes glinted too when she had a close look at the tyres.

‘
No
sweat!’ she said. ‘One, two, three, jab!’ and she hit out at a front tyre with both front paws.

I watched in horrified fascination, almost expecting the car to hit back, but it kept quite still.

‘Come on, Mum! This is fun!’ said Henrietta.

I couldn’t let her see I was half afraid of the car, so I lashed out at the other front tyre. It was most satisfying to feel my two spikes puncture the black rubber. I fancied I could hear a faint hiss.

‘Keep going!’ Henrietta encouraged me.

Before long we had jabbed all four tyres all over.

Then it was back to our haystack cave to wait for the farmer’s return. Once again the swallows sealed the entrance with hay.

The babies liked being in a house they could eat, but I was too nervous to nibble at the hay. I felt quite sick when I peeped out and saw the farmer returning, on foot this time, and going inside the farmhouse.

I felt sicker still when he came out again. He was carrying an arch-shaped basket with bars across the front. And cowering inside the basket, his eyes wide with fear, was my little Horace.

‘No! Stop!’ I cried. I would have charged out of the haystack and attacked the farmer but Henrietta restrained me.

‘Stick to the plan, Mum,’ she whispered urgently.

The farmer put the basket down on the seat beside him and started up the car.

It made a loud noise and, to my horror, began to move forward.

‘It’s all right, Mum!’ hissed Henrietta, sensing that I was again on the point of rushing out of the haystack. And sure enough, the car stopped and we heard the farmer cursing and muttering.

He got out of the car and inspected the tyres. He cursed a lot louder then, and stormed off into the house. Songo flew to the window to spy on him.

‘Now!’ said Henrietta.

I
did
race out of the haystack then, and round to the driver’s door of the car. It was open. I leaped inside, and Henrietta leaped after me.

‘Mum!’ squeaked Horace, pressing his nose against the bars of his basket.

There was no time to talk to him: I needed my mouth for something else.

Songo had explained to me how the bars were fixed to the basket with two things called leather straps, and I knew what to do – gnaw. I set to work on one of the straps while Henrietta gnawed away at the other one.

Songo fluttered to the car door.

‘You’re all right still,’ he said. ‘The farmer’s talking to someone on the telephone.’

I gnawed for all I was worth. The leather was quite tough (I found out afterwards it’s made from animal skin – horrible thought) but my teeth were tougher. I gnawed through my strap and finished off Henrietta’s one. Then I hooked the barred door open and out crept Horace! He snuggled up to me on the car seat, and I could feel him trembling.

‘No time for cuddles,’ Henrietta warned us, and at the same time we heard a shrill ‘Twhit! Twhit!’ which was the swallows’ warning call. The farmer was coming out of his house!

‘Run!’ hissed Henrietta.

We leaped out of the car and ran towards the haystack, Henrietta leading the way. I followed her with Horace. He was so slow! Had the farmer seen us or not? I didn’t turn round to find out.

We reached the haystack and dived inside. Only then did I allow myself to turn round and peep out. The farmer
couldn’t
have seen us; I’d have heard his feet chasing after us if he had.

But he
had
seen us. He was standing by the car holding the empty basket and staring goggle-eyed at the haystack. He looked as if he was frozen to the spot.

He unfroze pretty quickly, though, and started to run our way. He wasn’t what I’d call fast, but then neither was Horace.

‘Back door!’ ordered Henrietta. We’d dug our tunnel right through to the other side of the haystack, and we now jostled each other to escape that way. Henrietta quickly overtook the others and led the way. Horace and I were lagging behind, and this time I
could
hear the farmer’s feet behind us.

Where was Henrietta leading us? We couldn’t go to the wood after all, at least not the most direct way – it would mean running back past the farmer.

I was soon to find out.

We rounded a hedge, and there in the middle of the next field stood the red Tractosaurus. Henrietta was bounding towards it, the other babies hot on her heels.

Horace and I were way behind, and the farmer was hot on
our
heels. I could hear him panting now. Any second and he would make a grab for one of us. This is it! I thought. I’ll have to turn round and fight.

But what was this I could hear? A tremendous twittering was drowning out the farmer’s panting. I sneaked a glance over my shoulder. The farmer had stopped running. He stood still, surrounded by a cloud of swallows. They were circling him, swooping and flittering, twittering madly. The farmer was flapping his front paws, trying to beat them off.

‘Mum! Horace! Hurry up!’ Henrietta’s voice sounded different, as if she was speaking through clenched teeth.

I looked ahead again, and saw that Henrietta was actually
in
the red Tractosaurus, behind the steering wheel. In her mouth was a key. The other babies were clambering in and clustering round her. What were they up to?

There was no time to wonder. Horace managed a burst of speed and I followed him. Two of the other babies reached down and helped Horace up on to the Tractosaurus. I leaped on behind him.

Henrietta slotted the key into a hole beside the wheel; she’d practised this often enough on the rusty Tractosaurus in the barn. But this time it was different. The red Tractosaurus let out a deep growl, scaring me out of my wits.

‘Handbrake off, Hardy! Step on the gas, Hermia!’ Henrietta was giving orders to two of the other babies. The Tractosaurus lurched and moved forward. We were off!

The things I remember most about that scary, bumpy journey are sounds – I think I must have had my eyes closed in fright, because I don’t remember any
sights
at all. I could hear the Tractosaurus’s roar, the farmer’s shouts and curses and the excited twittering of the swallows.

And then there was another sound – an alarmed quacking which I just had time to recognize as the Quackosaurs’ noise before there came the most terrifying sound of all – a loud splash.

Yes, you read it right. H-Day! At last I have a day named after me.

And I didn’t think I would live to see another day – any sort of day. Not when I heard that splash yesterday and realized what had happened. Henrietta had driven the Tractosaurus into the pond!

The babies couldn’t swim – not as far as I knew, anyway. I could a bit, but I certainly wasn’t going to save myself and let them drown.

But perhaps you’ve guessed what actually happened. It was like the time I was being chased by Meg, only in reverse. We sank down and down, Tractosaurus and babies and all, without needing to breathe. Then it was round a corner and up, up, up! And there we were, still inside the Tractosaurus, but no longer in the pond or even on the farm. No, we were back home!

Of course, I didn’t realize this at first, as my eyes were still closed. That is, until I heard Henrietta squeal, ‘Look! A Megalosaurus!’ I opened them then.

It was, too – and I could swear it was the same one that had chased me into the puddle. But this time he didn’t look in the mood for doing any chasing. I have never seen such an expression of terror, except perhaps on the cat’s face back in the barn.

I’m sure Meg didn’t recognize me; he obviously thought that the babies and I were all part of the terrifying Tractosaurus.

‘After him!’ shouted Henrietta, who was still at the wheel. The babies in charge of the other controls obeyed her, and the Tractosaurus lurched noisily forward again.

Meg ran for his life. Actually, he wasn’t in danger, as the Tractosaurus isn’t all that fast, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Soon he was just a blob in the swampy distance.

We carried on for a minute or two, till I spotted the most wonderful patch of horsetails. Henrietta parked the Tractosaurus by some tall ferns and we all bounded out.

I can’t tell you how delicious that first mouthful of horsetails tasted, after so many weeks of hay and grass. The babies obviously agreed. Horace, in particular, was tucking in with a speed and enjoyment I’d never seen before. I could almost see him putting on weight.

We were munching away so blissfully that we didn’t hear Triceratops lumbering up behind us.

‘These are
my
horsetails, Hypsy-Wypsy,’ she growled, all three horns lowered.

I was about to clear off, but Henrietta, cool as a cucumber (whatever that is – I picked up the expression from Swinburne), answered: ‘Share and share alike, Tri. After all, we’re sharing with our friend here,’ holding back a fern to reveal the Tractosaurus in all its glory. One glance was enough for Tri. She was off, her silly armour-plated frill quivering in terror.

‘All brawn and no brain,’ came a voice which I was sure I recognized. I turned and saw a familiar head rearing out of a hollow in the swamp.

‘Well, H, aren’t you going to introduce
me
to your new friend?’

It was my old friend Euph. And clustered around her were a dozen babies, each with a miniature club at the end of its tail!

My own babies were green with envy (well, they were green already, but you know what I mean). They all wanted clubs too. But Euph’s babies seemed to think that the Tractosaurus was better than any number of clubs, and begged to be taken for a ride.

So Euph and I conducted a guided tour of the swamp – ‘Just a short one, though,’ said Henrietta. ‘We don’t want to run out of diesel.’ We passed the place where my last lot of eggs had been eaten by the Compsognathi after I’d fled from Τ Rex; we even saw a T Rex, but as soon as he saw
us
he ran a mile.

Oh, it’s so good to be home, to have all thirteen babies alive (if you ask me, thirteen is a lucky number, not an unlucky one like Swoop said), and to have our own bright red metal armour – the Tractosaurus. I don’t need to worry about Horace any more.

Talking of Horace, he is turning out to be a wonderful storyteller. This evening Euph and her babies sat and listened for hours to his tales about the farmer and the cat basket and, of course, the swallows.

We do miss the swallows. But we wouldn’t have seen much more of them. They’re probably on their way to Africa by now. Perhaps they’ll tell stories about
us
to the other birds and animals they meet there.

‘It’s sad to think we’ll never see them again,’ I said to Henrietta today after all the others had gone to sleep.

But Henrietta just gave me a funny look.

‘They’re coming back, you know,’ she said. ‘They only stay in Africa for half the year. And we’ll be needing more diesel.’

I have a feeling that in half a year’s time Henrietta will be visiting a certain puddle. I wish I could stop her, but some children just have to go their own way – that’s one thing I’ve learned about being a mother.