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My dad and I find sun-bleached chicken bones by a lake. These were from a dinosaur, he says, rolling the wing between his thumb and finger. Then he puts it back, under a tuft of grass.
Really, I say—eight years old and very gullible. Shouldn't we take them with us?
Oh no, he says. We thought it was pretty great finding these old bones, didn't we? Let's give someone else a chance to find them too.
into the water