Free Dinosaur Thunder by James F. David

no good anyway. Another chick slipped through the straw, sliding to the wood floor. Sally sniffed it, the chick continuing to mew, its beak open wide. Jeanette cupped it in two hands and put it back in the pile.
    “This isn’t working,” Jeanette said.
    Sally whined softly.
    “Watch them, Sally,” Jeanette said.
    Stepping outside, Jeanette saw the sun coming up. It was dawn, and Carson had not returned.
    “Carson, you owe me,” Jeanette said.
    Jeanette hurried to the house and got an old Mexican blanket: green plaid with fringe. It was Carson’s, brought back from a trip to Matamoros. Jeanette had always hated the blanket. She took two old towels—the only kind Carson had—and returned to the barn. Sally was faithfully standing watch, her nose nearly touching one of the chicks.
    Working the blanket under the chicks, Jeanette created a high-sided nest; she pulled chicks from the straw and put them in the blanket-lined nest. The blanket made a solid floor, and the chicks stayed put now but made even more noise. Piece by piece, Jeanette pulled the eggshells from the straw. All seven had hatched.
    “Now what?” Jeanette said, the jaws of all seven mewing chicks open wide and pointed at her.
    Sally whimpered, nuzzling Jeanette’s hand.
    Jeanette scratched the dog’s ears. “You want breakfast, don’t you?”
    At the word “breakfast,” Sally barked. Instantly, the chicks stopped mewing and all of them lay flat, eyes open, bodies motionless.
    “Don’t be scared,” Jeanette said, reassuring the ugly brood. “Sally won’t hurt you.”
    Slowly the chicks stirred, looking around.
    “It’s okay,” Jeanette said, putting some cheer in her voice.
    As if one, the chicks popped up and began mewing again.
    “Stand guard,” Jeanette ordered Sally.
    Sally whined, as tired of the chicks as Jeanette was. Upon returning to the house, Jeanette went to the back porch, where they kept Sally’s Purina Dog Chow. Built against the back wall of the house were shelves they used as a pantry. There were two cans of Alpo Prime Cuts on the shelf: one beef flavor, one chicken. Jeanette read the label. The first ingredient on the chicken Alpo can was water. There were also “poultry by-products.” Carson was too cheap to buy Alpo for Sally regularly, but treated her to a can now and then. Sally loved it. Would velociraptor chicks?
    Taking the two cans, Sally’s bowl, a can opener, and a spoon, Jeanette went back to the barn. Sally was still on guard, but trotted over when she saw the bowl. The chicks erupted in loud mewing when they saw Jeanette. Ignoring them, Jeanette opened the can of beef Alpo and dumped it into Sally’s bowl. Sally’s nose was in the bowl before Jeanette had it on the ground. With Sally gobbling her breakfast, Jeanette opened the can of chicken Alpo.
    Sniffing the contents, Jeanette turned up her nose. There was nothing chickenlike in the smell coming from the can. Whatever the smell, the chicks went wild, heads back, jaws open, mewing in their deep coarse way.
    “Patience, you little brats,” Jeanette said, scooping out a chunk.
    The pieces were slimy and square. After tearing off a small chunk, Jeanette dropped it in an open mouth. With an audible series of snaps, the Alpo disappeared down a gullet, and the jaws came open again. Jeanette worked systematically, feeding small chunks to the chicks, trying to give each an equal amount. The chicks never stopped mewing between mouthfuls, but when the Alpo was gone, they settled down, mewing only occasionally. Finally, two flopped down, one with its head on the neck of the other. Jeanette noticed the chicks were pinkish now.
    Her bowl licked clean, Sally sprawled in spilled straw, half asleep.
    “You watch them,” Jeanette said. “I have to run to the store.”
    Sally whimpered an objection but was too tired to get up.
    Taking Carson’s pickup truck, Jeanette drove past the house the police had raided. The front door was open. Jeanette made a mental note