Move over Popover

I have a pet dinosaur. Except no one really knows that it is a dinosaur.

You see, scientists have it all wrong about what dinosaurs looked like. You can’t really blame them because they only have the bones of dinosaurs to give them a rough idea of what they looked like. The only thing bones establish is the size.

My dinosaur is about the size of a really large dog, but he doesn’t have scales or rough skin. He doesn’t even have feathers like scientists are now imagining. No. My dinosaur is big and fluffy, with big blotches of purple fur all over his pelt. He is also very heavy because dinosaurs have an insulating layer of blubber. Maybe some of them don’t but mine does. And it costs a lot for him to maintain that swathe of fat. He eats constantly. Luckily he is not a picky eater. I feed him six eggs, half a loaf of toast, 3 rashers of bacon, two fried tomatoes, and a can of wet dog food every morning. And that’s just his first breakfast! I tip a whole bag of dog kibble into his bowl before I leave for school but almost always, his bowl is empty when I get home. The manager at the grocery store manager once asked my mom whether we run an animal shelter and whether that is why we buy 20 bags of dog kibble every two weeks. I guess he doesn’t have a hungry dinosaur at home.

However, what scientists really got the wrongest is how dinosaurs behave. If you’ve ever watched Jurassic Park, you probably have the impression that dinosaurs are cold and vindictive and that they hate people. But let me tell you, nothing is further from the truth! My dinosaur is so loving. Every morning, he nibbles on my toes to make sure that I am awake. He stares at me when I eat my breakfast, waiting for me to drop some eggs “accidentally.” When I come home in the afternoon, he waits by the door for me. He wags his tail, oblivious to all the fact that he is knocking all mom’s nicknacks over. 

His name is Popover.

Popover loves people. He especially loves my best friend, Jojo, who lives next door. She comes over every afternoon just to see Popover and play with him. Apart from my family, Jojo is the only other person that knows I have a pet dinosaur. 

You may be thinking to yourself, how then do I know I have a dinosaur and not just a regular dog?

Well, scientists did get some things right. After all, you don’t get to call yourself a scientist by making outrageous claims and not having proof to back it up. 

Popover’s eyes look like that of a cat. Big yellow irises are slit vertically down the middle by his pupils. Additionally, his front legs are much shorter than his back legs, giving him the typical T-Rex look.  He also has an upright stance, like a human, rather than an alligator. But like an alligator, Popover hissed. He didn’t roar or meow or bark.

While having a dinosaur is fun, try getting a vet to treat him. 

One Saturday morning I woke up late. I overslept, because unlike other mornings, Popover wasn’t nibbling my toes or sticking his cold forked tongue into my nostrils. When I sat upright, I saw Popover was sleeping in his basket by the door, curled into a tight ball.

“Popover, are you ok?” I asked. He lifted his head and wagged his tail, but didn’t bound over like he normally would if I called him.

“Mom!” I called, worried.

“Yes, Tom, what is it?” said my mom, bursting into the room, clearly annoyed that her Saturday morning cleaning ritual was interrupted. If the clock was anything to go by, she would’ve been deep cleaning the bathroom at this time.

“There’s something wrong,” I said.

These magic words melted my mom’s demeanor immediately. Moms live to comfort their sick offspring, as far as I could tell. 

“Are you feeling ill?” She placed a hand on my forehead.

“Not with me, with Popover!”

She went over to my dinosaur.

“Hey, boy, what’s wrong?” she asked, scratching the spot he liked between his eyes. 

Popover leaned into the scratch, wagged his tail, but didn’t move to get up. 

“That is strange,” my mom said, frowning. “I’ll go make him some breakfast. Maybe after a bite to eat, he will feel better.”

She returned a short while later, carrying a tray that was buckling under the weight of breakfast foods. She even made oats with cream and berries- one of Popover’s most favourite breakfasts. 

I helped myself to a slice of toast and a rasher of bacon.

“That’s for Popover!” she scolded. 

She placed the tray in front of Popover. The dinosaur lifted his head and took a few bites from the oatmeal. He moved on to the eggs next and then ate a couple of slices of toast. He laid his head back down with a shiver.

He hadn’t eaten a third of the food on the tray.

“Ok, now I am worried,” said my mom. “I am phoning Dr. Melo right now.”

I sat down next to Popover’s basket, stroking his head. I pulled out my phone and texted Jojo.

“Popover not feeling well. Can you come and love him a bit?” I hit send. 

A short while later, my mom came back into the room.

“Look who I found wandering outside,” she trilled. Jojo followed her in. 

“Aah, Popover, what’s wrong?” Jojo said, immediately cupping his head in her hands and kissing his snout. He wagged his tail with more vigour than ever but still didn’t make an attempt to move.

“So, Dr. Melo said to give it 24 hours. If Popover still isn’t feeling better in the morning, or if he gets worse, we must contact her immediately. She will do a home visit. We must keep him hydrated.”

A rush of conflicting emotions ran through me. I was relieved that Dr. Melo wasn’t too concerned, based on the symptoms my mom described over the phone.  If she wasn’t worried, it can’t be too bad. I also felt angry that no one was taking it more seriously. My dinosaur was feeling ill. He couldn’t tell us what was wrong and we needed to figure it out before it got worse. I also felt sad because I had never seen Popover so listless and sad.

“Ok,” I said, impotently as my mom left the room. Popover had curled into a tight little ball and gone back to sleep.

“Want something to drink?” I asked Jojo. I needed some coffee.

“Yeah. Let’s leave the little baby to sleep,” she said.

“Popover, we’re just going to the kitchen for some coffee, ok? We will be back soon. Just rest a bit,” I said to him. He wagged the tip of his tail but lay motionless otherwise. 

We headed downstairs, talking in hushed tones. The life seemed to have been sucked out of the house because there wasn’t a 200-pound dinosaur knocking everyone over and leaving a trail of debris and destruction in his wake. 

We made coffee and settled down at the kitchen counter. Jojo was yammering on about some project that was due soon but I was only half listening. My mind kept wandering back to Popover. 

Suddenly, there was a tremendous rumble coming down the stairs. Popover came bounding into the kitchen, full of life yet again. He ran over to us and then back to the door, then back to us.

“I think he wants us to follow him,” said Jojo, getting up from the kitchen counter. 

We walked up the stairs, a good 20 paces behind the excited dinosaur. 

In my room, we could see why the dinosaur was so excited. There, in his basket, lay a spherical, football-sized egg.

“Well, I guess he is a she,” said Jojo, incredulous.

Scientists got one more thing about dinosaurs wrong. They didn’t die out. And if Popover was any indication, they weren’t set for extinction anytime soon.