Deep in the jungle, where the ferns grew tall and the mud smelled of last night's rain, Rex set up his platform before sunrise. Rex was a small blue bird — the only dentist in the whole jungle — and today was Dino Dentist Day. He'd polished his one tooth-scraper until it gleamed. He'd handed out numbered signs to every dinosaur in the queue. He'd even printed a schedule on a large leaf. Everything was perfect.
Then the wind came. One big WHOOOMP, and every numbered sign went spinning up into the treetops and tumbling away into the jungle. Gone. All of them. The queue dissolved at once. A stegosaurus wandered toward a berry bush. A triceratops sat down heavily — right on top of her own sign — and didn't notice. And a very small iguanodon marched straight to the front and announced, "I am number one." She was number seven. Rex could see the seven printed on the sign she'd somehow kept hold of. It was upside down. Rex tucked his tooth-scraper under one wing, ruffled his feathers, and stomped off into the jungle. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Those tiny feet hit the ground like they meant business.
He found sign number two stuck in a spiderweb between two trees, trembling in the breeze. He found sign number four being used as a fan by a dozing diplodocus who did not want to wake up. Rex tugged it out from between the diplodocus's enormous claws, very carefully, without waking her. The claw was the size of Rex's entire head. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Deeper into the jungle. Number six was up in a fig tree, balanced on a branch. Rex flew up, grabbed it with his beak, and promptly dropped his tooth-scraper. It bounced off four branches and landed in a puddle with a soft plop. He retrieved both, shook off the mud, and kept going.
Then he heard a rustling. Behind a giant jungle leaf — wide as a door and bright waxy green — something was breathing very slowly, trying not to be heard. Rex peered around the edge. There was Tog: a young ankylosaur with a shell like a cobblestone road, curled as small as an enormous dinosaur possibly can curl. Tog was holding sign number five against his chest like a shield. He was also holding his breath. "I found you," said Rex. "You didn't," said Tog, with his eyes shut.
Rex held up the tooth-scraper. It caught a thin shaft of sunlight through the canopy. "Is this what you're worried about?" Tog opened one eye. Rex held the scraper next to Tog's own front claw. The scraper was shorter. Much shorter. About half the length of one claw-tip. Tog stared. Then he laughed — a great rumbling belly-laugh that shook leaves off the tree above them and sent a small lizard skittering away across the roots. Stomp, stomp, stomp — Tog followed Rex back through the jungle, still chuckling.
Rex lined everyone up in order. One to seven, signs held high, shuffling into place in the green-gold afternoon light. He checked every tooth — a little plaque on number three, one wobbly molar on the diplodocus, Tog's teeth absolutely perfect — and he handed each dinosaur a small leaf parcel of minty seeds as a prize. The minty seeds smelled sharp and cool, like a breeze before rain. The dinosaurs chewed them slowly, eyes half-closed, tails swaying. Then they walked home together — all seven, in numbered order, through the long fern shadows of the late afternoon. A happy, rumbling parade. The ground shook softly with each step, then less, then less, until the jungle was quiet. Rex stood alone on his platform. He placed his one tool neatly in its case. He clicked the case shut. A single firefly blinked on, just above the ferns.
