work.
The sailors did not come into the hold, but Captain Ippolito ventured down a few times. The captain once saw Shellabarger staring down the venator. Ippolito said to Peter, "Between them both, they have enough evil eyes to kill a city. I would not stand between them, not for a million dollars."
Peter hated cleaning the slop, but he enjoyed feeding Sammy and tending Sheila. Sammy was "less vicious by far than a rhino," according to Shellabarger, "but you still have to watch him." Sammy took a shine to Peter and was careful not to tread on the boy when he was in the cage. Peter had a chance to wash the centrosaur twice, and the big animal rolled his eyes in sheer delight as the rough bristle brush was pushed, laden with soapy water, over his tough, horny hide. Peter loved to feel the hide, almost hard as rock, and feel the weight of the huge animal as Sammy shifted his feet with the roll of the ship. Shellabarger warned him to keep a watchful eye out in case the ship rolled more than usual, and then, to scramble up on Sammy's back if the big animal missed his step and slammed against the cage.
In the cage, Sammy could angle himself from corner to corner, but he could not turn around, and if his straw wasn't changed regularly, he would get sores on his hoof pads and between his nails.
"We're all going to be glad to be on dry land again, aren't we?" Peter asked the centrosaur. Sammy closed his eyes and lifted his broad, heavy shield to be scrubbed on the nape of his neck.
Peter brought mineral salts from a big steel drum in the circus store room to Sheila. The spiky, heavily armored animal moved very little, usually spending the day lying half on her side, spikes wedged between the plywood deck of the cage and the bars just beyond. She drank the mineral salts mixed with water from a big bucket, sucking the water through her tough, turtle-like beak.
The ankylosaur's droppings were big as baseballs, and just as round and solid. After evening cleanup on the fourth day out, Shellabarger found a baseball bat and they took a bucket of Sheila's refuse and went to the stern. There, Ray and OBie and Anthony joined them for a game of dungball. The droppings hit the bat with a solid whack and flew out over the rail to vanish into theLibertad 's broad wake.
"Dino dung and the national pastime . . . who'da thunk it?" OBie asked. He grinned as another round ball of dung flew out over the ocean.
"I'da thunked it," Ray said, handing the bat to Shellabarger. Peter played catcher until he complained about being on the receiving end of so much shit. Anthony made a face and Shellabarger held up his hands and said he was keepinghis language clean.
"Hey," OBie said, "I'm the Irishman here. That should be my line."
They tried to explain to Peter the joke about the Italian and the Irishman, but they couldn't clean it up and make it funny, so Peter had to piece it together for himself later that evening. Even then, it wasn't very funny.
Ray began teaching him to draw in the evening after what Peter called his "dino-chores" were done. Peter had sketched enough to be able to block out forms and put them together; Ray showed him how to compose a picture, find the lines of action, make sure things in the picture "know about each other." He explained that a picture has its own weight that tugs the eye from one side to the other, or swings it around in a spiral.
"Understand the animals, the people," Ray said, quickly sketching a man crouching as some dark shadow loomed behind him. The shadow became a huge cave bear. Peter, much more crudely, sketched a man standing with his hands in his pockets. In front of him cowered a little mouse.
Ray looked at it and shook his head. "Not bad," he said. "Where's the action, though?"
"The mouse is really afraid," Peter said.
Ray laughed, then turned the page on his pad and began sketching an ancient Hindu temple.
"You want to be a writer, like your father?" Ray asked again.
"Yeah," Peter
The sailors did not come into the hold, but Captain Ippolito ventured down a few times. The captain once saw Shellabarger staring down the venator. Ippolito said to Peter, "Between them both, they have enough evil eyes to kill a city. I would not stand between them, not for a million dollars."
Peter hated cleaning the slop, but he enjoyed feeding Sammy and tending Sheila. Sammy was "less vicious by far than a rhino," according to Shellabarger, "but you still have to watch him." Sammy took a shine to Peter and was careful not to tread on the boy when he was in the cage. Peter had a chance to wash the centrosaur twice, and the big animal rolled his eyes in sheer delight as the rough bristle brush was pushed, laden with soapy water, over his tough, horny hide. Peter loved to feel the hide, almost hard as rock, and feel the weight of the huge animal as Sammy shifted his feet with the roll of the ship. Shellabarger warned him to keep a watchful eye out in case the ship rolled more than usual, and then, to scramble up on Sammy's back if the big animal missed his step and slammed against the cage.
In the cage, Sammy could angle himself from corner to corner, but he could not turn around, and if his straw wasn't changed regularly, he would get sores on his hoof pads and between his nails.
"We're all going to be glad to be on dry land again, aren't we?" Peter asked the centrosaur. Sammy closed his eyes and lifted his broad, heavy shield to be scrubbed on the nape of his neck.
Peter brought mineral salts from a big steel drum in the circus store room to Sheila. The spiky, heavily armored animal moved very little, usually spending the day lying half on her side, spikes wedged between the plywood deck of the cage and the bars just beyond. She drank the mineral salts mixed with water from a big bucket, sucking the water through her tough, turtle-like beak.
The ankylosaur's droppings were big as baseballs, and just as round and solid. After evening cleanup on the fourth day out, Shellabarger found a baseball bat and they took a bucket of Sheila's refuse and went to the stern. There, Ray and OBie and Anthony joined them for a game of dungball. The droppings hit the bat with a solid whack and flew out over the rail to vanish into theLibertad 's broad wake.
"Dino dung and the national pastime . . . who'da thunk it?" OBie asked. He grinned as another round ball of dung flew out over the ocean.
"I'da thunked it," Ray said, handing the bat to Shellabarger. Peter played catcher until he complained about being on the receiving end of so much shit. Anthony made a face and Shellabarger held up his hands and said he was keepinghis language clean.
"Hey," OBie said, "I'm the Irishman here. That should be my line."
They tried to explain to Peter the joke about the Italian and the Irishman, but they couldn't clean it up and make it funny, so Peter had to piece it together for himself later that evening. Even then, it wasn't very funny.
Ray began teaching him to draw in the evening after what Peter called his "dino-chores" were done. Peter had sketched enough to be able to block out forms and put them together; Ray showed him how to compose a picture, find the lines of action, make sure things in the picture "know about each other." He explained that a picture has its own weight that tugs the eye from one side to the other, or swings it around in a spiral.
"Understand the animals, the people," Ray said, quickly sketching a man crouching as some dark shadow loomed behind him. The shadow became a huge cave bear. Peter, much more crudely, sketched a man standing with his hands in his pockets. In front of him cowered a little mouse.
Ray looked at it and shook his head. "Not bad," he said. "Where's the action, though?"
"The mouse is really afraid," Peter said.
Ray laughed, then turned the page on his pad and began sketching an ancient Hindu temple.
"You want to be a writer, like your father?" Ray asked again.
"Yeah," Peter
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