I smiled at her vehemence.

"No, I mean it," she said, nettled. "A dinosaur. Ankylosaurus—Ian says technically it's Paleoscincus, because of the tail—one of the extinct armored reptiles. She—"

"Sure, Selma," I said, hardly paying attention to her fantasy about the animal. She was getting old!

"She gets balky sometimes, and she's so big."

"Suppose you let me walk her for you today," I said, now rather curious, as well as glad for the pretext for a break.

Her relief was almost too evident. "Oh, would you? She's really quite harmless, but she does need her exercise. Maybe Butterfeldt will come home tomorrow, and we can take her back to him."

She led the way to the rear. "Now, she knows what 'stop' means, so you won't have trouble running into traffic. But when she stalls, sometimes the only thing you can do is kick her in the side. Don't worry; you can't hurt her. That carapace is tough. And it won't matter that you're a stranger. She's not too bright that way; anyone can lead her."

Carapace? Pure hyperbole, surely!

"Sure," I said amiably.