Bailey and the Little Puddle

A bright raindrop plinked into an old dinosaur footprint just as Bailey heard a tiny tap-tap nearby.

“Tap-tap,” came the sound again, from beneath a broad fern leaf.

Bailey, a young dinosaur with a moss-green back and a tail that swished when he was curious, bent to look. A little beetle stood on a pebble. Its blue-black shell was speckled with rain.

“Hello,” said Bailey. “Are you looking for something?”

“A drink,” said the beetle. “I’m called Pip. The rain has left puddles everywhere, but I haven’t found one I can reach.”

Bailey glanced at the footprint beside them. It was wide and deep, pressed into the meadow long, long ago. The edges had grown smooth with time, and little lines in the stone showed where an ancient dinosaur’s toes had been. Rainwater sat in the middle, making a tiny pool.

“There’s a puddle right here,” Bailey said. “You can drink from it.”

Pip hurried toward the water. But the old print tilted down toward one side. A thin trickle slipped over its rim and ran along the ground.

Pip stopped at the dry edge. “The water’s going away!”

Bailey watched the last round drops slide down the sloping track. He wanted to help Pip, but he didn’t want to splash the beetle or make the water rush faster. He placed one careful foot beside the print and leaned close.

“Maybe we can wait for more rain,” he said.

They listened. The meadow was quiet except for drops falling from leaves. Plink. Plink. But the clouds had already moved on, and no new rain fell into the footprint.

Pip tapped one front foot against the pebble. “I’m still thirsty.”

Bailey looked across the meadow. Old footprints dotted the ground like a giant’s trail. Some were narrow, some wide. A few held little pools, while others were dry. Nearby, broad leaves lay scattered among the grass, rinsed clean by the rain.

“I’ll look for a better spot,” Bailey said. He stepped slowly toward the next print, with Pip riding safely on his broad toe. All around them, the meadow smelled fresh and earthy, and tiny drops clung to every blade of grass.

The next footprint was close by, just beyond a clump of grass. It was broad and round, with a low rim and a level bottom. A thin skin of water rested in it, but the middle was almost dry.

Bailey set Pip on a smooth stone beside the print. “This one might work,” he said. Then he watched the first puddle. One little stream still trickled downhill, away from the beetle and toward a patch of soft mud.

Bailey looked from the sloping print to the flatter one. The second track lay a little lower on the gentle slope of the meadow. Between the low edge of the first print and the second, the ground slanted smoothly downhill.

“How could the water get over there?” Bailey wondered aloud.

He nudged the grass with his nose. It bent, then sprang back. A twig was too stiff and rolled away. Pip waited beside the stone, quiet as a seed.

Bailey’s eyes fell on a broad, fallen leaf. Its edges curled up like a little boat. He picked it up gently in his mouth and carried it to the prints.

“Could this help?” asked Pip.

“I think so,” Bailey said.

He laid one end of the leaf at the low edge of the first footprint and pointed the other end downhill toward the level print. Then he pressed the leaf down with his nose, following the ground’s gentle slope. It made a shallow channel for the water.

The trickle reached the leaf. It crept along the middle, stopped at a wrinkle, and began to gather there.

Bailey held still. His tail stopped swishing. Pip watched, too.

“Come on, little drop,” Bailey whispered.

The water slipped over the wrinkle and traveled down the leaf. It reached the second print and fell in with a tiny plip. Another drop followed. Then another.

Bailey adjusted the leaf’s tip a little, making it point into the middle of the broad print. The last drops from the sloping track slid along the leafy channel and spilled into the new pool. There, the water spread across the level bottom instead of running away.

Bailey lifted his nose. The leaf stayed in place, its curled edges keeping the water on its path. Pip stepped toward the puddle. This time, the water waited for him.

Pip walked down the gentle slope of the broad footprint, taking small, careful steps. The water was clear enough to see a pale grain of sand at the bottom. Pip leaned over and took a sip.

“Ah,” he said. “That’s just right.”

Bailey smiled and bent near the print, keeping his nose well away from the leaf. Pip drank again, then stood still with his front feet close together.

“Thank you for finding me a safe puddle,” Pip said.

“You helped,” Bailey replied. “You noticed the water was leaving, and you waited while I tried things.”

Pip looked at the old tracks scattered through the meadow. “Do you think the dinosaur who made these knew someone might use them for a drink?”

Bailey studied the lines pressed into the stone. The great toes and rounded heel had been there for ages, while rain and wind had softened their edges. “Maybe the dinosaur was just walking,” he said. “But the prints stayed, and now they’re helping us.”

Pip took one last sip. A bead of water rested on his shell, and he brushed it away with one little leg. Then he climbed onto the smooth rim and settled beside the puddle.

The meadow grew quieter. Raindrops no longer fell from the leaves. A breeze moved through the tall grass, and the broad leaves turned their pale undersides toward the evening sky. The little channel still connected the two footprints, and the leaf rested there like a bridge.

Bailey eased down beside the tracks. The earth felt cool beneath him. He tucked his tail close and watched Pip sit safely near the water. Beyond them, the meadow stretched out in soft greens and browns, dotted with ancient marks from another time.

“Good night, Pip,” Bailey murmured.

“Good night, Bailey,” said the beetle.

Bailey let his eyes grow heavy as the breeze hushed the grass. Beside him, Pip rested by the level puddle, and the old footprints held the last quiet drops of the rain.