Raising Rufus (7 page)

“There's no
pigosaurus
in here. But I'm thinking that's you.”

Martin let out a long breath and rubbed his eyes. Maybe later his dad would let him use his computer, and he could do a more thorough search.

Eyes glazing over, he idly leafed through the book again, stopping when he came to a page he vaguely remembered from his birthday two years earlier.

TYRANNOSAURUS REX.

He looked again at Rufus, who was tripping all over his own feet as he wrestled with his piece of the burger. Martin couldn't help but snicker.

“Right.”

He held the book out next to Rufus, comparing him to the artist's drawing. Not much to go by, but might as well read on.

TYRANNOSAURUS REX.
T. rex was one of the most fearsome carnivores that ever lived. It was characterized by powerful hind legs with three forward toes and one back; tiny forelimbs with two toes…

He took a look at Rufus's shriveled forelimbs, which he hadn't really paid that much attention to before: two toes.

and long, sharp teeth. Though it was probably a scavenger of dead animals, it was most likely a powerful hunter as well, with a voracious appetite for meat.

As he watched Rufus tear away at the beef, Martin got an odd feeling. He held the book up next to Rufus again, and suddenly felt a strong tingling in the deepest caverns of his stomach.

“Noooo,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “It's crazy. It's ridiculous. No way!”

But his mind wouldn't let go of an alarming thought that just kept getting stronger and stronger. The next word that came out of his mouth surprised him and, even though he was the one who said it, actually scared him a bit.

“Way?”

Three eye-blinks later, Rufus finished off the last of the Ultraburger, looked up at his human companion, and emitted a sound that Martin could have sworn was a tiny reptilian belch.

O
n the twenty-eighth of May, the Trout Palace opened for business.

Martin had talked his dad into getting him a job there, doing odd chores for pay. It wasn't a real
job,
of course—the child labor laws wouldn't allow it. But he knew his dad liked the idea of him getting out of that barn for a few hours a week and learning to fend for himself in the world. Martin really wanted to make a good impression on that first day, because then there was a good chance they'd let him work more hours when school let out for the summer.

Opening day was always busy, busy, busy, and Martin's assignment was just to wander the grounds and be available to help the visitors find their way around. This was not his favorite thing to do (talking with
strangers—ugh!),
but he put on his best face and mingled in with the crowd in his too-big Trout Palace Staff T-shirt, with a big red-and-yellow
HOW CAN I HELP YOU?
button pinned prominently on his chest.

The Trout Palace was nothing new to Martin, but even he couldn't help feeling a bit of excitement as the guests eagerly streamed into the park by the hundreds.

In the outdoor area, the Ferris wheel, the merry-go-round, the “Rocket” mini coaster, and all the other rides sprang to life, calling out to the youngest fun seekers like a living toy box. It was a warm, perfect spring day, and the shimmering colors and cheery music blended with the kids' delighted screams to lend a real sense of excitement to the occasion.

As people came in the front entrance of the main building, the first thing they saw was the giant fish hanging from the ceiling. Just as it had every day for years, it greeted the visitors in a loud, deep voice, its lower jaw bouncing up and down like a marionette's:

Ho ho ho ho! Welcome to the Trout Palace!

Thirty acres of pure Wisconsin fun.

If you like it, we've got it—

so come on in, leave your worries outside,

and get set for the time of your life!

Ho-o-o-o-o-o ho ho ho ho!

By the end of the day, Martin and the other workers would be so sick of hearing that talking trout that they would dream of smashing it to pieces with a heavy stick, like a giant piñata. But the visitors seemed to like it just fine.

Once they were inside, the guests could head in almost any direction and find something fun to do. Straight ahead was the long midway, a busy boulevard of carnival
attractions—mainly
food stalls and all kinds of games of skill and chance, including, naturally, that goofy U-Bag-Em game. At the far end of the midway, a huge room full of arcade games kept dozens of kids—mostly the older boys—occupied for hours at a time.

Just to the left of the main entrance was the Heart o' the Woods restaurant, where you really could catch your own dinner. A set of large doors led from the dining room to an outside patio, and the patio jutted out over a big, man-made pond. The pond was kept well stocked with rainbow trout and lake perch—easy game for adventurous diners with fishing poles supplied by the restaurant. Master chef Tim McTavish would then clean, cook, and garnish their catch for a delicious dinner.

A few yards beyond the restaurant entrance was where the “Four Muskrateers,” Daisy, Edna, Walter, and Fritz, delighted all comers by racing down a long, winding wooden track. All they were really interested in were the muskrat treats at the finish line, but the human spectators, who could make bets on the outcome of the race with play money, found the whole thing perfectly charming.

And if muskrats weren't your cup of tea, well, there were always Zippy and Flippy, the furry stars of the always-popular “Ballet de Beavre.” How they taught those big rodents to dance and prance around that little stage wearing fluffy white tutus, and to do it a dozen times every day, is a mystery only a beaver's brain can fathom. But their rendition of
Swan Lake
never failed to entertain and inspire.

Another audience favorite, especially with the kids, took place in the Walleye Theater. The stage was home to magicians, acrobats, jugglers, and novelty acts of all descriptions. The show's masters of ceremonies were “Curtis and Jake,” a pair of backwoods dimwits who kept 'em laughing with a nonstop barrage of bad puns, slapstick routines, and big, toothless grins. Many of the folks in Menominee Springs didn't much appreciate being portrayed to the world as dumb country hicks, but as long as visitors kept buying tickets to the shows, Ben Fairfield didn't concern himself with such things.

By the end of the day, Martin's feet felt like they had sandbags attached to them, and he leaned against a railing to give them a bit of a break. He could see Mr. Fairfield standing in his usual spot just below the talking fish, greeting the arriving customers with a handshake and a smile. “Hi there, folks! Thanks for coming today.”

He seemed happy enough, but in between groups of guests his expression darkened, and he fidgeted tensely. Martin had sensed his mood all day and kept his distance, but his dad wasn't afraid to walk up to him. “Little slow for opening day, eh, Ben?”

“Disaster,” Mr. Fairfield snapped. “Worst in twenty years.”

“I wouldn't sweat it based on one day. Whole season to go yet.”

The words of encouragement didn't help, and Mr. Fairfield marched away gruffly.

For Martin, this job meant some extra dollars in his pocket for spending cash. And as the owner of a rapidly growing pet with a giant appetite, he needed a
lot
of spending cash. He was amazed at how fast Rufus had grown in just five weeks—and how much food he put away. At first, Martin collected as many dinner scraps and leftovers as he could take without raising suspicions, but pretty soon it just wasn't enough. So he had to do the one thing he had sworn he never would: he raided the mayonnaise jar holding his life savings—all forty-eight dollars and twenty-six cents of it. He used every penny to buy dozens of cans of a dog food called Fido-Nummy, because it was cheap and Rufus liked it.

And the bigger Rufus got, the more Fido-Nummy he ate. Martin was keeping a log of his growth, and he could hardly believe how fast the numbers went up:

The weight measurements weren't quite exact, because Martin had a hard time holding Rufus on his mom's bathroom scale, which he would occasionally borrow while she was at work. But he figured his numbers were pretty close.

By the time the Trout Palace had been open for a week, Martin's money supply was about gone, and the Fido-Nummy was dwindling fast. He had put in a good ten hours of work there, and he needed to get paid, and soon. At the end of that warm Friday, he spotted his dad replacing a lightbulb on the U-Bag-Em and briskly walked up to him.

“Hi, Dad. I finished washing those tools.”

“Huh?…Oh. Yeah.”

“So…is that it?”

“Um…did you sweep up the theater like I said?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sanded the splinters off the thing…?”

“Yep.”

Martin stood there, nervously scratching his shoulder, as Mr. Tinker kept wrestling with the hard-to-reach bulb, grunting under his breath.

“Okay,” Martin finally said. “Guess that's it.” He trotted off toward Ben Fairfield's office.

“Where're you going?”

“Mr. Fairfield said I'd get paid on Fridays.”

“No, don't bother him. I'll get it from him later. Here.” He took out his wallet and extracted a few bills. But he didn't hand them to Martin right away; instead he just stood there, studying him.

Martin figured he was about to get a lecture or something, and he was not incorrect.

“Y'know, Marty…maybe you're right. Maybe football isn't your forty-ay.”

“Forte.”

“Not everybody can be Aaron Rodgers. Now,
hunting…
” He took hold of the mounted rifle and aimed it into the fake woods. “
There's
a sport where you don't have to be big, or even that coordinated. Maybe I'll take you up to Collin Cove next fall. Bag yourself a duck or two.”

“Okay. Could you please pay me now? I'm in kind of a hurry.”

Martin could tell from his dad's narrow squint that he was hoping for a better answer than that. Luckily, though, he didn't press the issue, and grudgingly handed the bills to Martin.

“Don't spend it all on bug nets.”

“I won't. Bye.”

Martin knew his parents' expectation that the Trout Palace job would get him out of the barn and into the world didn't work out as they had hoped. One night he overheard them talking about how he seemed even more withdrawn than before, and was spending even more time by himself in the barn. It worried them.

But of course, he was not by himself. Being with his rapidly growing dinosaur quickly became the thing Martin cared most about in life. Unlike the humans he knew (except his mom), Rufus was always excited to see him when he got home from school or work. And he seemed to thrive down in that big cellar, always gobbling down the scavenged scraps and Fido-Nummy that Martin brought. Martin didn't even mind shoveling up the increasingly large piles of dino poop and hauling them out to the woods.

In the back of his head, he knew there was a chance that this could turn into another Orville-the-hamster situation. But as Rufus grew, it seemed pretty obvious that no hawk would be foolish enough to come after him. Not only was he getting too big for that, but his teeth were becoming quite prominent, and his reflexes were as quick as a cheetah's. And Martin didn't want to risk taking him out of the barn anyway—not only might Rufus get discovered, but he might like it too much. Either way, Martin didn't spend a lot of time worrying that he might be getting too attached to his secret pet.

Ms. Olerud spoke the words aloud as she wrote them on the board.

“Although today is the last day of school…we have to finish our English lesson.”

She turned to the class. Everybody already had their minds on summer vacation, so feet were shuffling, eyes were wandering, and lips were whispering. Even Martin had to concentrate to keep from fidgeting.