Dinosaur Trouble by Dick King-Smith

1

    When he hatched from his egg, the first thing the baby saw was a huge face looking down at him. Above a long, toothless, beaked jaw, two large eyes stared into his as he struggled free of the egg. Once the baby was out, he could see that the creature had big leathery wings, stretching from its fingers to its knees, and that it had long, slender legs.

    â€œHello!” it said.
    â€œWho are you?” asked the baby.
    â€œYour mother,” the creature replied. “Nice to see you. Let’s go flying.” And she spread her big leathery wings and took off.
    Could I do that ? wondered the baby. Only one way to find out. So he spread his very small wings and flew up after his mother.
    â€œWell done!” she cried when he reached her. “It’s nice to be nidifugous, isn’t it?”

    â€œWhat does ‘nidifugous’ mean, Mom?” the baby asked.
    â€œIt means to be able to fly as soon as you’re hatched. All pterodactyls can.”
    â€œWhat does ‘pterodactyl’ mean, Mom?”
    â€œCreatures like us,” the baby’s mother replied.
“ Pteron means ‘wing,’ and daktylos means ‘finger.’ Each of my wings is attached to each of my fourth fingers, see? And so are yours.”
    â€œSo I’m a whatever-you-said, am I?”
    â€œA pterodactyl. Yes, you are, my son. And a very pulchritudinous one too.”
    â€œWhat does ‘pulchritudinous’ mean, Mom?”
    â€œBeautiful.”
    â€œOh,” said the baby pterodactyl, and he kicked his little legs happily as he flew high above the rocky land.
    â€œNow,” said his mother, “there’s the matter of nomenclature.”
    â€œWhat,” said the baby, “does ‘nomenclature’ mean, Mom?”
    â€œNames. You have to have one.”

    â€œGosh, you do know a lot of long words, Mom.”
    â€œOne has to,” said his mother, “in these Jurassic days, if one wants to survive. Who knows, one day pterodactyls might become extinct. And before you ask me what ‘extinct’ means, I’ll tell you. It means gone, finished, kaput, dead and done for.”
    â€œBut, Mom,” the baby said, “I don’t want to be extinct.”
    â€œDon’t worry your head about it,” his mother said. “If it should happen, it won’t be for millions and millions of years, my son. Now then, what shall we call you? You ask enough questions. How about Nosy? How d’you like that?”

    The baby waggled his small but rather long snout.
    â€œI don’t mind,” he said, “but, Mom, what’s your name?”
    â€œAviatrix,” said his mother.

    â€œWhat does ‘Aviatrix’ mean, Mom?” asked Nosy.
    â€œA female flier. In the skills of flying, among all pterodactyls, I am paramount.”
    This time Nosy didn’t ask anything. He simply said, “I suppose that means ‘the best.’”
    â€œIt does, Nosy, my boy,” replied Aviatrix. “It most certainly does.”
    Mother and son flew on, side by side. Nosy flapped along as fast as he could while his mother flew slowly so that he could keep up with her.
    â€œMom,” said Nosy after a while, “where are we going?”
    â€œTo see your father,” said Aviatrix.
    â€œOh. What’s he called?”
    â€œHis name is Clawed. You’ll see why when you meet him. Never have there been claws like his.”

    Before long they left behind the dry stony place where Nosy had hatched among the hot rocks, and came to a wood. Here there were quite a number of pterodactyls, hanging upside down as pterodactyls do, each gripping a branch with its taloned feet. The biggest one, Nosy could see as they dropped lower, had the most enormous claws.
    â€œThere he is!” cried Aviatrix. “There’s my Clawed! Come on, Nosy, come and meet your daddy!”

2

    When they landed, Aviatrix could see that Clawed was fast