”I still have to figure out if I’ll be able to put a T-Rex on the point,” my dad said, as we ate pizza in front of the garage-cum-apartment my parents sleep in when they come to oversee progress on the cabin.
“For the point,” my dad said, referring to the small jetty of land on the edge of our property, just where the lake turns into the bay. “I’ve always wanted to put a 20-foot tall T-Rex on the point. I talked to my guy about hauling one in, he said he could do it. Just gotta talk to the lake people.”
“Why a dinosaur?”
“My grandkids like dinosaurs.”
“Our grandson does, anyway,” Mom said.
I laughed. “But Ben isn’t going to be four forever.”
“Well, it’s either a t-rex or one of those dinosaurs with a long, curvy neck.”
I thought about this for a second. “You mean a brachiosaurus?”
“I thought they were called Brontosaurus.”
“We might both be wrong. I think they’re called Apatosauruses.”
“Anyway, imagine it,” Dad said. “A 20-foot dinosaur, people fishing nearby, ‘Hey, what’s that in the trees? Oh my God it’s a dinosaur!'”
I laughed. “People are going to think we opened a Sinclair station.”