Written by Nicholas Driscoll.
Art by Sam Messerly.
By this time, there were dozens of bystanders taking pictures, posing, and even asking for the tyrannosaurus’ autograph. I didn’t know what to say. For one thing, it was still difficult for me to know what I should say to a giant flesh-eating lizard. If I said the wrong thing, I thought maybe he would bite my head off—literally. But at the same time, I liked my garage. I liked my garage a lot. So, in other words, I had ample motivation to say something.
Thankfully, at that moment, the police arrived. Two of them anyway—though they did not look very intimidating. Not much does next to a rex.
“What’s going on?” said one, eyes popping as he approached the old lizard. “Is this some kind of prank?”
The tyrannosaurus turned to the officer.
“Hello there,” said the tyrannosaur.
“Officers, thank goodness you are here,” I said. “This tyrannosaur wants to steal my garage. Please arrest him!”
The policemen looked at the tyrannosaur, and then they looked at each other.
“I don’t think he would fit in the back of the police car,” said one.
“We will get this all sorted out somehow,” said the other, and he walked up to the tyrannosaur. “Did you try to steal this man’s garage?”
“No,” said the tyrannosaur. “The garage is still right over there. And despite the fact that I am a very large dinosaur, I think it is obvious I am not big enough to carry away the entire building. Plus, and this is the important part—this man Wal lives on my land. So his garage, and this entire town, are legally my property.”
Some of my neighbors were setting up lawn chairs so they could sit and watch what was happening. My neighbor Charlie’s daughter Harriet, always the little entrepreneur, had set up a lemonade stand and was drawing dinosaurs on the paper cups. The policemen just stared at the tyrannosaur.
“Please take a look,” said the dinosaur. And then he showed the police his feet, the fossilized footprints, and how well his feet fit the footprints, plus the hole where he claimed he had been sleeping. He even had a dinosaur-sized pillow.
“As you can see, I took a very long nap, and while I was sleeping, your country was built on my land,” said the tyrannosaur.
“Without my permission,” he added.
The policemen were listening, but they didn’t seem to understand.
“Do you want to see the footprint again?” asked the tyrannosaur. “Look, you can see every wrinkle and line from my feet. You won’t find another tyrannosaur with a foot that matches these prints.”
“Are you trying to take over the country?” asked one police officer finally after a long pause.
“Not the whole country,” said the tyrannosaur. “But this town is obviously mine. You will find more of my footprints all over the area.”
The policemen looked at each other again.
“Should we call the mayor, or the army, or both?” asked one of the officers to the other.
“This isn’t in the training manuals,” said the other. “Let’s just call everyone to make sure. And I think we need to take his fingerprints, too.”
“The big guy’s fingerprints?”
“Yeah.”
That afternoon was very long. Many people came. Many people talked. We had dozens of meetings. The tyrannosaur stayed cheerful throughout. Harriet made a lot of money from her dinosaur lemonade.
Finally, those in charge decided to take the issue to court—and I was called to be one of the primary witnesses. But how do you bring a dinosaur to trial?
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