He nodded seriously.

Farther along two eight-year-olds walked up, petted Kylo's head, and climbed carefully aboard her carapace. They paid no attention to me, and so I kept quiet. They had obviously done this before, and the dinosaur didn't mind.

In fact, nobody paid much attention. Kylo, apart from a couple of balks near tempting shrubbery, gave me no trouble. She was leash-trained, and not phenomenally hungry after the meal at the house and the groceries at the store. We completed the circuit without untoward event.

My old friend Ian appeared shortly after I turned Kylo loose in the yard, but the greetings were perfunctory.

"Butterfeldt died," he said. "It was much more serious than he let on."

They had not been close; Butterfeldt had been only a neighbor, and not of long standing.

The pressing concern was Kylo. "We can't keep her," Selma said. "She's just too much for us to handle on a regular basis, and there's no telling how long she will live. We don't even know what vet she goes to. The bill for vegetables—" She turned to me. "She can't eat grass, you know. It's too tough for her digestion. Just vegetables and flowers and fruits.

She likes bread, too, but she can eat so much!"

"No grass? Surely if she can digest rocks—" I began.

"That's different. She doesn't digest them; they just help to grind up the food inside. Birds do the same thing."

I shut up, feeling stupid. I should have made the connection when the grocer told me.

"We'll have to call the SPCA," Ian said unhappily.

I was shocked. "You mean—?"

"No, I don't mean," he said, irritated. "They don't put away animals unless there's no alternative. Kylo's perfectly gentle, once you understand her, and she is unique. I'm sure they'll be able to find a good home for her."

It was that simple. I had to go home, and my business kept me there, but I saw the ad in the city newspaper, a few days later:

PET OF THE WEEK: "Kylo," affectionate Ankylosaur, leash-trained, suitable for children.

Extinct 65,000,000 years but in good health. Prefers head lettuce. Unique. Call after 5:30