Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 2, May 2013 by et al. Mike Resnick

heard of any dinosaur farm.”
    “Oh, it’s brand new. It’s in…Florida. It’s for dinosaurs like Rexy who’ve gotten too big to live in Connecticut. I’ll put him on an airplane and send him straight to Florida. And we can visit him next year when we go to Disney World, okay?”
    “You’re lying—” Jill accused, but there was an edge of uncertainty in her tone. “When are we going to Disney World?”
    “When you learn to stop whining. Probably when you’re forty or fifty.” Filltree grunted as he lifted the carry cage from behind. He could feel its center of gravity shifting in his arms as Rexy paced unhappily within, hissing and spitting and complaining loudly about being confined. The little tyrant was not happy. Jill complained in unison. Neither of the little tyrants were happy.
    Somehow Filltree got the heavy box up the stairs and into the service porch. “He’ll be fine there till tomorrow, Jill.” In an uncharacteristic act of concession, he said, “You can feed him all the leftovers you want tonight. The harm has already been done. And you can say goodbye to him tomorrow before you go to school, okay?”
    Jill grumped. “You’re not fair!” she accused. She stomped loudly out of the service porch and upstairs to her bedroom for a four-hour sulk, during which time she would gather her strength for the daughter of all tantrums. Filltree waited until after he heard the slam of her door, then exhaled loudly, making a horsey sound with his lips. Considering the amount of agita produced, he wondered if he’d locked up the right animal.
    Dinner was the usual resentful tableau. The servitors wheeled in, laid food on the table, waited respectfully, wheeled back, then removed the plates again. His wife glared across the soup at him. His daughter pouted over the salad. Not a word was said during the fish course. Instead of meat, there was soy-burger in silence again. Filltree had decided not to speak at all if he could possibly avoid it. Joyce couldn’t start chewing at him if he didn’t give her an opportunity.
    Idly, he wondered how much meat it would take to accelerate Rexy’s growth to six feet tall. The idea of Rexy stripping the flesh from Joyce’s bones and gulping it hungrily down gave him an odd thrill of pleasure.
    “What are you smiling about?” Joyce demanded abruptly.
    “I wasn’t smiling—” he said, startled at having been caught daydreaming.
    “Don’t lie to me. I saw you!”
    “I’m sorry, dear. It must have been a gas pain. You know how soy-burger disagrees with me.”
    He realized too late his mistake. Now that the conversational gauntlet had been flung, picked up and flung back, Joyce was free to expand the realm of the discussion into any area she chose.
    She chose. “You’re being very cruel and unfair, you know that,” she accused. “Your daughter loves that animal. It’s her favorite .”
    Filltree considered the obvious response: “That animal gets more hamburger than I do. I’m the breadwinner in this family. I’d like to be treated as well as Rexy.” He decided against it; that way lay domestic violence and an expensive reconciliation trip to Jamaica. At the very least. Instead, he nodded and agreed with her. “You’re right. It is cruel and unfair. And yes, I know how much Jill loves Rexy.” He tasted the green beans. They were underdone. Joyce had readjusted the servitors again.
    “Well, I don’t see why we can’t rebuild the terrarium.”
    “It isn’t the terrarium,” Filltree pointed out quietly. “It’s Rexy. He’s been accelerated. Nothing we do is going to contain him anymore.” He resisted the temptation to remind her that he had warned her about this very possibility. “If he gets any bigger, he’s going to start being a hazard. I don’t think we should take the risk, do you?” He inclined his head meaningfully in Jill’s direction.
    Joyce looked thwarted. Jonathan had hit her with an argument she couldn’t refute. She