abandoned her carrier and defecated on the floor.
That was not the worst: she'd eaten the potted plants down to the soil. He found her contentedly peeling away the veneer from the coffee table, having already dismantled the credenza and pulled most of the stuffing out of the sofa.
=Cherry credenza, manufactured in Hickory, North Carolina,= Bill said. =Sofa by de Leon, wool acrylic blend. Sixteen hundred dollars damage, minimum.=
Wilma looked up at Owen placidly, then turned her snakelike neck back, muzzled her nose among the debris on the floor, and swallowed a glass egg. He didn't know how her digestive system would handle the foam sofa stuffing, but the egg would do service as a gastrolith.
Owen hustled in and tried to pull her away from the table. He got her front legs off the floor, but her hind legs stayed planted. She stretched her neck out farther between his arms and kept munching. He tried to pull her backwards and stepped in the dinosaur droppings, his foot skidding out from under him until he fell on his butt in the mess. Through the bedroom door he could see a half-eaten bedspread and the mattress pulled off onto the floor.
=Make that twenty five hundred,= Bill said.
Owen let Wilma go. It wasn't as if pulling her away was going to save the already ruined table. But he didn't like the idea of her eating finished wood. There was no telling what effect the resins would have on her. He would have to check her feces.
=If you want to get her to move, lure her.=
Owen picked up the end of the table and pulled it into the bedroom. Wilma, endearingly clumsy, followed him, still nibbling at the corner. Once he had her in the bedroom he changed into some clean clothes. He had not planned to be so long getting back to the future, and so had not taken a supply of dinosaur food. Back in the Cretaceous, where grasses and flowering plants had not come into being, Wilma lived on a diet of ferns, protoconifers and cycads. He called down to room service.
"This is Owen Vannice, in room 224. Doesn't the hotel have some sort of fern bar?"
"Well, sir, we like to think of our King David Room in more refined terms."
"Yes. Do you suppose you could send up a supply of potted ferns for me?"
=This ain't going to work,= Bill whispered.
"If you find you room's accouterments unsatisfactory, sir, I'm sure we can move you to a more suitable one."
Owen would have to hazard a change in diet. Whatever he came up with would be better than cherry veneer. "How about hay? Do you have any hay?"
"Hay?"
"Yes, you know. Dried grass?"
"I don't think hay would do much for your room's decorating scheme, sir."
"This isn't about decorating," Owen said.
=Raw oats,= Bill whispered.
"How about oats?" Owen asked.
"If you will check your screen, sir, you’ll find we have oatmeal on our room service menu, with strawberries."
"Good. Send up about twenty liters. You can skip the strawberries."
"Twenty liters, sir?"
"Yes."
"We tend to measure by the bowl."
"How much is in a bowl?"
=She needs a wheelbarrow,= Bill said.
"Be quiet, Bill," Owen muttered.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"I said, it'll be quite a bill, I'm sure. For room service, I mean. How much oatmeal is in a bowl?"
"I don't know--maybe 250 milliliters."
"Okay, then, send me up 100 bowls of oatmeal."
"100 bowls."
"Yes. And it doesn't matter if it's cooked or not."
=Maybe you should get bananas on it,= Bill said sarcastically.
"Do you want bananas on it?" the room service operator asked.
"Yes. Send up a couple of bunches."
"Bunches. Are you going to eat this yourself, sir?"
"Oh no. It's for--"
=Don't tell him you've got a dinosaur!= Bill hissed.
"--uh," Owen stalled, his mind working furiously. What was it Gen had said about pretending?
=The bathtub.=
"--it's for bathing," Owen said. "A skin condition. You've never heard of the Connecticut Oatmeal Bath treatment--for apatosaurus dermastentoritis?"
The operator was silent for a moment. "I guess I did see something about that--on
That was not the worst: she'd eaten the potted plants down to the soil. He found her contentedly peeling away the veneer from the coffee table, having already dismantled the credenza and pulled most of the stuffing out of the sofa.
=Cherry credenza, manufactured in Hickory, North Carolina,= Bill said. =Sofa by de Leon, wool acrylic blend. Sixteen hundred dollars damage, minimum.=
Wilma looked up at Owen placidly, then turned her snakelike neck back, muzzled her nose among the debris on the floor, and swallowed a glass egg. He didn't know how her digestive system would handle the foam sofa stuffing, but the egg would do service as a gastrolith.
Owen hustled in and tried to pull her away from the table. He got her front legs off the floor, but her hind legs stayed planted. She stretched her neck out farther between his arms and kept munching. He tried to pull her backwards and stepped in the dinosaur droppings, his foot skidding out from under him until he fell on his butt in the mess. Through the bedroom door he could see a half-eaten bedspread and the mattress pulled off onto the floor.
=Make that twenty five hundred,= Bill said.
Owen let Wilma go. It wasn't as if pulling her away was going to save the already ruined table. But he didn't like the idea of her eating finished wood. There was no telling what effect the resins would have on her. He would have to check her feces.
=If you want to get her to move, lure her.=
Owen picked up the end of the table and pulled it into the bedroom. Wilma, endearingly clumsy, followed him, still nibbling at the corner. Once he had her in the bedroom he changed into some clean clothes. He had not planned to be so long getting back to the future, and so had not taken a supply of dinosaur food. Back in the Cretaceous, where grasses and flowering plants had not come into being, Wilma lived on a diet of ferns, protoconifers and cycads. He called down to room service.
"This is Owen Vannice, in room 224. Doesn't the hotel have some sort of fern bar?"
"Well, sir, we like to think of our King David Room in more refined terms."
"Yes. Do you suppose you could send up a supply of potted ferns for me?"
=This ain't going to work,= Bill whispered.
"If you find you room's accouterments unsatisfactory, sir, I'm sure we can move you to a more suitable one."
Owen would have to hazard a change in diet. Whatever he came up with would be better than cherry veneer. "How about hay? Do you have any hay?"
"Hay?"
"Yes, you know. Dried grass?"
"I don't think hay would do much for your room's decorating scheme, sir."
"This isn't about decorating," Owen said.
=Raw oats,= Bill whispered.
"How about oats?" Owen asked.
"If you will check your screen, sir, you’ll find we have oatmeal on our room service menu, with strawberries."
"Good. Send up about twenty liters. You can skip the strawberries."
"Twenty liters, sir?"
"Yes."
"We tend to measure by the bowl."
"How much is in a bowl?"
=She needs a wheelbarrow,= Bill said.
"Be quiet, Bill," Owen muttered.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"I said, it'll be quite a bill, I'm sure. For room service, I mean. How much oatmeal is in a bowl?"
"I don't know--maybe 250 milliliters."
"Okay, then, send me up 100 bowls of oatmeal."
"100 bowls."
"Yes. And it doesn't matter if it's cooked or not."
=Maybe you should get bananas on it,= Bill said sarcastically.
"Do you want bananas on it?" the room service operator asked.
"Yes. Send up a couple of bunches."
"Bunches. Are you going to eat this yourself, sir?"
"Oh no. It's for--"
=Don't tell him you've got a dinosaur!= Bill hissed.
"--uh," Owen stalled, his mind working furiously. What was it Gen had said about pretending?
=The bathtub.=
"--it's for bathing," Owen said. "A skin condition. You've never heard of the Connecticut Oatmeal Bath treatment--for apatosaurus dermastentoritis?"
The operator was silent for a moment. "I guess I did see something about that--on
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