The Dinosaur in the Basement

            It started out innocently enough. One of the children in our family child care looked at the little door on the wall of the coat closet and asked, “What is that?” I explained that it was the door to something called a laundry chute. “What’s that?” I was asked. I went on to explain what a laundry chute was and answer all laundry chute related questions that were tossed my way. After satisfying their curiosity, I went on with my day without another thought of laundry or chutes.

            Of course their curiosity was not satisfied; I was a big fool for even thinking such a thing. Items from the closet started mysteriously disappearing down the chute: “I can’t find my glove”, “Where is my backpack?”, “Someone took my hat!” Explaining the concept of laundry chute only partially quelled their curiosity. They needed to experience laundry chute. I understood--and respected--this need, but after a few weeks of understanding I was growing tired of trudging to the basement. I had to find an end to this cycle. I could have just nailed the door shut since we do not use the chute, but I decided that would be too easy. I had no choice but to tell them the truth about the dinosaur that lived in our basement.

            To start with, I gathered the schoolagers and nonchalantly explained that I knew they had been dropping things down the chute and that it needed to stop because the germs on their hats, gloves, and mittens were making my baby triceratops sick, and besides she might chew up their things because she was teething.

            “That can’t be true,” one child muttered.

            “Sure it’s true,” I countered, “You know how you have to wash your hands to get rid of the germs so they don’t make you sick? We’ll my baby dinosaur has never been around those germs before and when they get dropped down the chute on your things he gets sick. Yesterday I had to clean up a huge dinosaur puke mess.”

            “No, I mean it can’t be true that you have a baby triceratops in your basement. Dinosaurs have been extinct for millions of years!”, the child retorted

            “Yeah, there are no real dinosaurs any more. Only pretend dinosaurs,” another added.

            “That’s exactly what I used to think,” I began, “When we found the egg I had no idea it would hatch or that it would be a dinosaur. It’s amazing.” I went on to explain how Tasha, my wife, and I had been out hiking one weekend afternoon a few years back when we found the egg half buried in a hillside covered in lichen and moss. We decided to haul it home, clean it up, and get a better look.

            “How did it hatch?”, they asked in unison.

            “Well, at first we didn’t think it would hatch, but while we were cleaning the egg it moved a little bit. That’s when Tasha decided she would build a nest out of blankets and sit on it until it hatched.”

            “How long did she have to sit there?”

            “Only about six weeks,” I dryly answered.

            “SIX WEEKS!,” they squealed, “How could she do that!”

            I gave details and answered the flood of questions:

• I brought Tasha food and when she had to go to the bathroom she put the egg on a heating pad.

• They could not see the baby dino because her immune system was not able to handle human germs and we wanted to keep her safe.

• We wore special suits when we fed her and played with her so our germs would not hurt her.

• They did not make those suits in kid sizes.

• She was a plant eater, but since she was a baby we had to give her a bottle a few times a day too.

• She was able to live in our basement because it was huge, that is the way they made them 100 years ago when the house was built.

• Yes, I had to clean up lots of dinosaur poop, it did smell, and I had fallen in it.

• We had not named her yet, she thought Tasha was her mom and I was her dad, she liked to cuddle and rub her nose on my neck, her horns were kind of sharp, she was about 5 feet tall and weighed 1,200 pounds.

• I could not take her picture yet because the flash from the camera would scare her...maybe when she gets older.

• They could see her in 35 years when she was grown up and her immune system was strong.

            Over the next few days there were a few more questions from kids and interested parents; I happily answered them all with a smile. Nothing disappeared down the chute for over a week and there was a renewed interest in dinosaur toys, dinosaur books, and dramatic play involving dinosaurs. Every once and I while there was an inquiry into her wellbeing or a request to “Pleeeeeeeeeease!” meet her. Then one day Anna dropped her new black boots down the chute when she was supposed to be putting them on to go home.

            “I’ll go get them,” I said, “I hope the dinosaur doesn’t get to them first.”

            “We don’t think you really have a dinosaur,” she snipped as her friends looked on. Her mother stood by with a faint smile as I headed to the basement.

            A few minutes later, I returned. My hand, lower arm, and one of Anna’s new boots dripped with a slimy, thick, translucent goo that was speckled with sopping chunks of gunk. “Anna, she was chewing on one of your boots, but I got it away from her,” I said, “They should be okay once we clean them off. I really wish you wouldn’t drop things down there anymore!”

            The children’s eyes bugged out as they watched glop dribble from the boots. Anna was sure her new boots were ruined until a few swipes of a paper towel revealed they were fine. The kids were now all believers and each assured me they would not drop anything else down the chute...and they haven’t. It’s amazing what you can accomplish with a good story, some liquid laundry detergent, and a bit of debris from the dryer lint trap.