Lulu and the Brontosaurus Read online

  “No!” yelled Lulu. “No! No! No! A billion zillion times no.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” the brontosaurus replied. “I’ll feed you and pat you and play with you and treat you very nicely. And all I’ll expect from you is to sit and roll over and fetch a ball and do cute tricks.” (What did he think she was, some kind of dog-girl? I really don’t know; I can’t read a dinosaur’s mind.)

  Lulu thought about screeching and throwing herself on the forest floor, except that the forest floor was a long way down. She thought about squeezing the dinosaur dead, except that she needed both hands to hang on to his neck. She thought about swinging and swinging her suitcase and bonking him on the head, except that she’d left her suitcase under a tree. And she couldn’t stomp on his foot, because his feet were far too far from his back, where he’d plunked her.

  Then Lulu started to think that the only thing farther from where the brontosaurus had plunked her was her home, her home where her mom and her dad were waiting, her very own home where no one—not even when she was being a pain (which was most of the time)—had ever, ever expected her to sit and roll over and fetch and do cute tricks.

  “I want to go home to my house,” Lulu told the brontosaurus, then added in a lot-less-bossier voice, “Please let me go back to my house, Mr. B.”

  This was maybe the very first time in Lulu’s entire life that she, without being told, had used the P word. And yet the brontosaurus shook his head no. “Once you get used to it,” he kindly told Lulu, “I truly believe that you’ll like being a pet.”

  Lulu imagined being a pet in the house of this brontosaurus and never seeing her mom or her dad again. She imagined eating leaves and doing cute tricks. And she said to herself that if only she could turn today into yesterday, she wouldn’t go looking for dinosaurs in the forest and she wouldn’t say, “Foo on you” to her mom and her dad.

  She was feeling especially sorry that she had ever said, “Foo on you” to her mom and her dad.

  The brontosaurus pulled leaves off the trees and was offering them to Lulu. She grabbed them and threw them angrily away.

  “A simple ‘no, thank you’ will do,” the brontosaurus said to Lulu. “And I really liked that ‘please’ you used before.”

  “So please please please, let me please go home!” yelled Lulu.

  “Your yelling is hurting my ears,” said the dinosaur. “But I have to admit that even if you had asked me softly and sweetly, I still would want to keep you here with me. I’ve been lonely, and a pet is a very good thing.”

  For hours and hours and hours, from early morning till just past noon, Lulu kept telling the brontosaurus he had to let her go home, and the brontosaurus kept telling Lulu no. He also kept assuring her that he’d do his absolute best to make her happy. He spoke in such a kind and nice and polite and patient voice that after a while Lulu was talking, not yelling. And after a while she was talking softly and sweetly. And pretty soon after that, she started to cry.

  Yes, Lulu started to cry. And it wasn’t very often that Lulu cried. She’d rather screech till the lightbulbs burst and all of that other stuff, but right now she didn’t feel screechy—she felt teary. And so she cried and cried and cried, soaking the brontosaurus with her tears.

  He patiently waited as Lulu continued soaking him, and the forest floor, with her tears. He patiently waited some more and then he said, “I’m sorry I’m making you cry, little pet, but I won’t be changing my mind. Would you like a tissue?”

  Lulu now understood that no matter how hard she cried and how nice this dinosaur was, he was determined to keep her as his pet. And she now understood that if she was determined to NOT be his pet, she would have to escape. She cried just a little bit longer, but while she was crying on the outside, she was—on the inside—making a getaway plan.

  Sniffing a watery sniff, Lulu said to the brontosaurus, “Thank you, Mr. B, I do need some tissues. If you’ll just let me down on the forest floor for a minute, I’m sure I can find a box of them in my suitcase.”

  The brontosaurus lowered his head and his neck to the floor of the forest. Lulu slid off, stood up, and smiled a small smile. She walked to her suitcase, opened it, poked around for a while, and found (are you surprised?) a big box of tissues.

  But instead of taking the tissues out, she put her sleeping bag in, snapped her suitcase shut, and … started running.

  The brontosaurus stood stiff and still, as if he’d been glued to the ground. And then he started running after Lulu. But Lulu had darted off the path, into the heart of the forest, into a part of the forest where the trees grew so close together that a creature as huge as this dinosaur could not fit. She zigged and she zagged and she zigged and she zagged through those close-together trees while the brontosaurus looked for spaces to squeeze through.

  He was trying his hardest to catch her—as hard as a mountain-size creature can try—but she was leaving him farther and farther behind. “Come back, little pet, come back,” Lulu could hear him calling, first loudly, then softer and softer. “Come back, little pet. I know you’ll be happy with me.”

  “Come back, little pet….” His voice grew ever softer. And soon she could not hear his voice anymore.

  Since Lulu could not hear his voice anymore, she stopped running and started walking. She tromped through the forest in silence, heading for home.

  But she wasn’t swinging her suitcase and she wasn’t singing her song, and although she very much wanted to see her mom and her dad again, and very much wanted NOT to be a pet, she felt kind of bad about the brontosaurus. (And so do I. Because even though I’m the person writing this story, I don’t like leaving him all alone, sadly calling, “Come back, little pet. Come back.”)

  But then, after maybe an hour, Lulu suddenly heard a different voice, a not-so-friendly voice, saying, “Hold it right there.” And standing up on his two hind legs, and blocking her path through the forest, stood the black bear she had stomped on yesterday.

  “You hold it right there,” said Lulu, “and please”—there was that P word again—“don’t keep shaking your claw-y paws at me. If I have to stomp you, I’ll stomp you, but I’d really rather not stomp you. I’d rather”—she opened her suitcase and took out a jar of golden honey—“give you this if you’ll please get out of my way.” (What’s going on with Lulu? She’d rather not stomp him?)

  The bear took the jar of honey, opened the top, dipped in his paw, and slurpily licked it, mumbling something that sort of sounded like “Thank you.” Dipping and licking and slurping, he hurried out of Lulu’s path. And she continued tromping through the forest.

  Until … another familiar, another not-too-friendly voice said, “This time I’m eating you before you bonk me.” And there was the tiger, the silky, slinky tiger of yesterday, ready to pounce on her.

  “Forget the eating and bonking,” said Lulu, “and try on this beautiful scarf.” She pulled a long, floaty, bright green scarf from her suitcase. “It matches your eyes, and I’ll give it to you if you’ll please get out of my way.” And the tiger, happily wrapping the eye-matching scarf around her black-and-orange-striped neck, growled something that sounded like “Thank you,” and slunk away. And Lulu continued tromping through the forest.

  Until … well, what do you think she met next? A wolf? A giraffe? A lion? Don’t be ridiculous. She met—of course she met; what else?—the snake, who was hissing an even nastier hiss than he’d hissed the day before and warning her, “This time I’ll be the tighter squeezer.”

  Lulu, looking disgusted, told him, “Nobody’s squeezing anybody. All I’m doing is getting home today.” Then she reached in her suitcase and pulled out a small flowered rug and explained to the snake, “This is for you if you’ll please get out of my way. A soft rug to rest on whenever you feel like resting.”

  The snake took the rug in his mouth and tried (at least I think he tried) to say thank you to Lulu, though it’s hard to tell when a mouth is full of rug. In any case, he went slithering off wherever a sna
ke goes slithering. And Lulu continued tromping through the forest.

  It wasn’t too much later that Lulu could see that she was nearly out of the forest. She was happy that soon she would be with her mom and her dad. But along with feeling happy, she was also feeling sad when she thought of the brontosaurus she’d left behind. As a matter of fact, she pictured the poor lonely dinosaur so clearly in her mind that it almost seemed he was standing there, just outside of the forest, waiting for her.

  AND HE WAS!

  Was Lulu shocked? You bet! “What—what—what,” she asked, “are you doing here, Mr. B?”

  “I found a shortcut,” the brontosaurus replied.

  Lulu smiled a soft, sweet smile, then shook her head and sighed. And then she said (and even though I’m the person writing this story, I truly don’t know why she’s saying it in rhyme):

  “Please try to understand, Mr. B,

  That I cannot be your pet.

  Even though you’re the nicest

  Brontosaurus I ever met.

  And if you take me away with you,

  I’ll keep on running back home—

  Every chance that I get.”

  (Not a bad rhyme, though that last line’s a little lumpy.)

  “I already figured that out while I was waiting for you,” the brontosaurus told Lulu. “I do understand that you can’t be my pet. But please understand that I can’t be your pet either.”

  Well, Lulu understood and the brontosaurus understood. It seemed there was only one thing left to do. So they stood there, quietly looking at each other for a moment. And then they did it.

  The brontosaurus bent his long neck till his face was close to Lulu’s. He kissed her gently on the cheek and said, “Happy birthday, little pet … and good-bye.”

  Lulu put her arms around the brontosaurus’s neck. She kissed him gently on his nose and said, “Don’t be too lonely, Mr. B … and good-bye.”

  Then she slowly walked down the road that would take her home.

  Then he slowly walked down the road that would take him home.

  And although Lulu and the brontosaurus remembered each other forever, they never ever saw each other again.

  The (maybe) End

  Wait! I’m really not all that sure about this ending. It may be a little too mushy, a little too sad. But since I’m the person writing this story, I’m writing another ending and you can decide which one you’d rather have:

  Well, Lulu understood and the brontosaurus understood that neither of them could be the other’s pet. But why should that mean that they had to say good-bye? “Come with me and I’ll give you a piece of my birthday cake,” said Lulu.

  “I’d like that,” the dinosaur said. “May I give you a ride?”

  And Lulu arrived at her house, riding happily on the back of the brontosaurus.

  When her mom and her dad heard the noise of a dinosaur clomping into their yard, they remembered Lulu and they remembered her birthday. Lucky for all, her cake had already been made. “Don’t worry. He isn’t my pet,” Lulu said. “He’s only going to stay here for a piece of cake and a glass of lemonade. But he’s kind of a lonely guy, and I would like to invite him back for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  From that time on, the brontosaurus came to Lulu’s house for her birthday, Thanksgiving, and the Fourth of July. And sometimes she visited his house, though (since she didn’t like eating leaves) she always brought a suitcase of pickle sandwiches. On one very special birthday she not only invited her friend the brontosaurus, but also the snake and the tiger and the bear. And the brontosaurus noticed that whenever Lulu asked anyone for anything, she always said please.

  The End (maybe)

  Hmmm. I’m still not totally satisfied. I’m going to try once more, because I think I need to answer certain questions. Like: Were Lulu’s mom and her dad worried sick when she didn’t come home that night? Had they bought her a present for her birthday? Did she completely stop being a pain and turn into polite? And how did all that stuff fit into her suitcase? I’m going to answer these questions, and when I’m done you will have your choice of three different endings.

  Well, Lulu understood and the brontosaurus understood that, though they couldn’t be pets, they could be friends. So Lulu invited the brontosaurus back to her house for some birthday cake and introduced him to her mom and her dad. They hadn’t been waiting and worrying and wondering where she was because they had fallen asleep sipping their tea, and they didn’t open their eyes till the brontosaurus, with Lulu riding on his back, came clomp-clomp-clomping into their front yard.

  They gave her a silver necklace for her birthday.

  She sang them a whole new brontosaurus song:

  I didn’t, I didn’t,

  I didn’t, didn’t get

  A bronto-bronto-bronto

  Brontosaurus for a pet.

  I didn’t, I didn’t,

  I didn’t, didn’t get

  A bronto-bronto-bronto

  Brontosaurus for a pet.

  “It sure looks like you’ve brought one home,” Lulu’s mom said to Lulu.

  “And we still say no, you can’t have one,” said her dad. And both of them waited for Lulu to screech and throw herself down on the floor and kick her heels and wave her arms in the air.

  Except she didn’t.

  “What happened to the screeching?” asked her quite astonished mom.

  And her dad asked, “What about throwing yourself on the floor?”

  Lulu replied, very dignified, “I’m one year older today, and I’m not doing that kid stuff anymore.”

  “And she says a very nice ‘please,’” said the brontosaurus.

  After the cake and the lemonade, the dinosaur said good-bye, but he would return for many holiday visits. Sometimes the snake and tiger and bear came too. Although she kept getting older, Lulu never turned into perfect. She still—though less and less often—sometimes screeched and forgot about “please,” though she never again in her life said, “Foo on you.” But she mainly wasn’t a pain, and the brontosaurus was mainly not lonely anymore.

  As for how all that stuff fit into Lulu’s suitcase, I’m sorry to say that I don’t have a clue. I am, after all, just the person who’s writing this story.

  The End

  ALSO BY JUDITH VIORST

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