There he is, King Dino himself, Tyrannosaurus Rex. He is the reason I visited the Smithsonian Natural History Museum. Not some poor, tired stuffed lion. Rather, a huge pile of bones that conjures up even huger and scarier thoughts about what he was when he was alive. Although, if you look at him just right, he does kind of look like a big chicken with teeth. Hmmmm... Maybe there is something to birds having evolved from dinosaurs after all.
I couldn't help but feel sad for this stuffed lion. He and all the other beasts in the museum that were once real, live, magnificent creatures were doomed to watch through glassy eyes the crowds that daily gawk, there at the Smithsonian, there in perpetuity. Once the king of the beasts, there he sat, frozen for all time, mane neatly brushed, posing as if about to roar but never to roar ever, ever again, no more ferocious than a stuffed animal in a toy store. The dinosaur bones were cool. The jewels incredible. However, the stuffed animals were just very, very sad.
