BARGAINING IN THE LATE CRETACEOUS

One day, a rock appeared in the heavens. 

Every creature knew about the moon and the sun and had long ago become accustomed to their comings and goings. There was an established relationship there: they were reasonably sure their old gentle friend the moon would not crash into the ground anytime soon. 

But this new rock was something completely different. It appeared small at first, like a dull star loitering in an unwelcoming constellation, but each day it grew larger in the sky, which only made its intrusion more and more disconcerting.

Many on the ground had excellent instincts - honed over the eons to help them survive the various predators, forest fires and other cataclysmic events that generally plagued them - but even the ones who could not tell their asses from a tarpit sensed that something very bad was in the offing.

When it became clear that the rock was unlikely to clear away on its own, the creatures of what one day would become the Yucatan sent representatives to gather together beneath the Great Rock, a large stony outcropping that overhung a picturesque white sand beach.

Mother Marmoset tended to stay towards the back of such meetings, spending most of her time on a large piece of driftwood at the edge of the beach. Over her lifetime she had attended many of these gatherings, and while she would never call them a waste of time per se, she might occasionally question their efficiency and efficacy.

Next to her, Father Finch sat perched upon a twig. As he suspected, the dinosaurs all huddled down closest to the Great Rock - after all, everything was always about the dinosaurs - and besides, he preferred the company of Mother Marmoset, with whom he felt comfortable shit-talking the more important of the great reptilians.

“Not looking too promising, huh?” asked Father Finch.

“We’ll see what the Brontosaurusii have to say, but obviously the fact that it’s growing larger and larger by the day is less than ideal,” replied Mother Marmoset. “I don’t know what that rock wants, but…”

“Can’t be good.” Father Finch picked a prehistoric grub off of the driftwood bark and had a quick snack.

Beneath the Great Rock the Brontosaurii, the elders of the dinosaur community, consulted one another. After they had finished speaking, the eldest of the elders - the most revered of the venerable, the dustiest of the dusty - stepped forward to address the gathered creatures.

And through a complete and total coincidence, made possible by the sheer distance in time and by the eccentricities of translating long forgotten languages between species, it turned out that this eldest of the Brontosaurii was called Chuck Schumer.

“Hello, everybody,” said Chuck Schumer the Brontosaurus, who sounded absolutely nothing like his unwitting homo sapiens namesake. “As you probably know by now, there is a new rock in the sky and it seems to be getting bigger and bigger, and closer and closer to us. We, the brotherhood of the Brontosaurii, convened earlier this morning to talk amongst ourselves and, after some vigorous debate with some solid points made by everyone involved, we have decided that the best course of action is to figure out what this sky rock wants.

“Many of you are probably very worried that we’re likely to give in immediately to whatever the rock demands. I just want to assure you that won’t be the case - we will show that as vertebrates we do indeed have spines - but that first we can only know the best steps forward once we know what the rock demands.”

The dinosaurs muttered their approval, for they trusted Chuck Schumer the Brontosaurus and had been doing so for a very long time indeed. However, Mother Marmoset and Father Finch shared a concerned look. Unable to help herself, Mother Marmoset cleared her throat as loudly as she could.

“Begging your pardon, Chuck,” she began, “but how likely is it that the rock will actually have demands? If it’s anything like the rocks here on the ground, it might not even be able to speak, let alone have things that it wants.”

“See? This is why,” responded Chuck, “we trust the Brontosaurii with matters like these. This rock is clearly different from ground rocks, because ground rocks don’t get closer on their own. They don’t move at all unless you push them. But the sky rock does move on its own, otherwise it could not get nearer. Therefore, the sky rock must have demands. But it is great to see you, Mother Marmoset, and I hope I can count on your continued support.”

“How are you gonna talk to it if it’s in the sky?” asked Father Finch.

“The Brontosaurus is not only the oldest and wisest of creatures,” answered Chuck, “but it also has the longest necks. Who among us would have a better chance than us, who possess not only the experience and wisdom but also the vertebral reach?”

The rest of the animals were satisfied with the superior logic of his arguments and the commitment to 'real world results' - or, most were satisfied anyway - and so Chuck Schumer the Brontosaurus adjourned the meeting, promising to give the creatures an update on progress made in one weeks’ time.

~

Mother prepared to return home to her troop of marmosets to give them the ambiguous news, such as it was, but before she left the vicinity of Great Rock she decided to stop at the watering hole with Father Finch.

“Woof,” said Father Finch.

“What? Your fears aren’t eased?” asked Mother Marmoset with some measure of sarcasm. “The brilliant Brontosaurii are on the case.”

A nearby lizard, Grandma Gecko, poked her head out from under a rock. “You two don’t sound convinced. Chuck wouldn’t lead us on. He has eons of negotiating experience.”

“Eons my cloaca,” retorted Father Finch.

Mother Marmoset rolled her beady little eyes. “Great negotiators, those Brontosaurii. Remember what a good job these guys did with the velociraptors? Right before the great mammal massacre? Their principled compromise made many of us warm blooded creatures into snack fodder. Solid work there.”

“And the time they struck that power sharing bargain with the Tyrannosaurs to keep them out of the valleys?” chirped Father Finch. “They really thought they were going to share power with the Tyrannosaurs? I told them it was a bad idea. Tyrant is in their name!”

“Maybe they haven’t been one hundred percent perfect every time,” allowed Grandma Gecko, “but no negotiation ever is. Besides, they are the best we have so we should hope with everything we have that they succeed.”

~

A week passed. The rock went from small and rockish to something quite a bit more stony. It seemed to rise and set in the sky, turning into a disconcerting peer of such celestial mainstays as the moon and even the sun.

As promised, the Brontosaurii once again gathered together representatives of all the creatures beneath the Great Rock to apprise them of the developments vis-a-vis the whole “rock in the sky” situation.

“We have great news,” began Chuck Schumer the Brontosaurus, “A lot of interesting developments since we last spoke. I’m happy to announce that we have a really great strategy moving forward and are very optimistic about getting a beneficial outcome for everyone involved.”

“Oh. Great,” said Father Finch, a little note of surprise in his chirp. “Maybe this won’t be a disaster then.”

Mother Marmoset nodded politely but knew to wait before making any judgments.

Chuck Schumer the Brontosaurus bowed his long neck, adopted a serious tone, and said, “Unfortunately, the rock in the sky has been less than forthcoming with his demands so far. We’re continuing to reach out and committed to keeping open lines of communication, but it seems the rock wishes to play hardball. And so, we’ve decided to play hardball back.”

“What does this mean, ‘hard ball?’ Is this some term that I’m not familiar with?” whispered Father Finch to Mother Marmoset. And, because the game of baseball would not be invented for a very, very long time, the idiom failed to make sense to most of the assembled creatures. Chuck clarified:

“We’re going to stonewall it.”

But ditto masonry, which also was yet to be invented. Chuck scowled, then explained further:

“We will refuse to engage with the rock until the rock shows signs that he is ready to negotiate with us. By standing up to the rock here and now, we will show it that the creatures of the ground are not to be trifled with.”

At that, the dinosaurs stomped their hooves (or flapped their wings or gnashed their teeth where appropriate) in an early approximation of applause. However, Mother Marmoset was less than impressed.

“Should we be doing something to prepare, just in case?” she asked. “After all, Chuck, the last time you tried this tactic we ended up losing countless mammal lives at the hands of bloodthirsty velociraptors.”

“You’re always bringing that up,” replied Chuck rather testily.

“Well, I did lose three mates and fifteen offspring that way,” offered Mother Marmoset.

“Mother Marmoset has a point,” chimed in Father Finch. “Supposing this rock doesn’t want to negotiate - if for instance it turns out to be an inanimate object that happens to be hurtling towards us as part of blind bloody destiny - should we have some sort of back-up plan?”

Chuck Schumer the Brontosaurus raised his head high into the air, and proclaimed, “Do not be worried, my fellow ground goers. The Brontosaurii have many back up plans. However, we have determined it’s best to try our plan first. There’s nothing a bully hates more than stern, silent disapproval.”

“So, not really an update,” griped Father Finch.

“Let us reconvene in another week’s time, when we will have more information to share.”

~

Within a few more days, the rock had grown from stone size to something much more bouldery. 

Mother Marmoset knew that her troop likely couldn’t wait the full week for some sort of update, that their survival likely hinged on some more proactive course of action, and so she set out to find the Brontosaurii and ask them directly what had happened since last they all met.

She leapt from branch to branch, pushing her way through the thick jungle brush. Soon, she heard a fluttering among the leaves and found Father Finch there darting among the foliage.

“Hey! Finch!” she shouted. “What are you doing out here?”

“What a pleasant surprise! The ol’ flock is getting restless, so I thought I might come down here a bit early to see what news there might be.”

“Two tiny sets of eyes are better than one!” said Mother Marmoset.

Together they searched the rivers with the sweetest water and the forests with tastiest leaves on the highest boughs but could not find the Brontosaurii. Typically they were not that hard to find, being the tallest of the tall creatures. Yet, wherever Mother Marmoset and Father Finch looked, they found nobody.

Finally, they returned to their favorite watering hole to regroup.

“This is really frustrating,” noted Mother Marmoset. “When they want something from me, like a vote or a food contribution, you can’t get rid of them. But the moment we need something from them…”

“It’s like they’ve disappeared,” said Father Finch.

Just then, Grandma Gecko peeked her head out from behind a log. “Oh, uh. You’re not talking about the Brontosaurii, are you?”

“Do you know where they are?” asked the Finch.

Grandma Gecko licked her lizard lips with her long tongue. “I do, but you’re probably not going to like it.”

She led Mother Marmoset and Father Finch through the jungle, along a stream and over a gully until they came to where the foliage gave way to the mountains.

There, they saw all eight of the eldest Brontosaurii huddled around an opening in the rock, their heads all shoved into the same cavern.

And there they sat, barely moving. Their heads crammed into the same cave.

“They’ve been like this for days now,” noted the Gecko. “Every day, one will leave to gather some branches full of leaves and then bring them back to the cave. Outside of that, though, hardly any movement.”

“Have you tried talking to them?” asked Mother Marmoset, her eyes glued to these hulking bodies gathered around the same tiny hole in the ground.

“I didn’t want to be a bother. No doubt they’re in there, scheming up their next brilliant move. Although I agree that they do look a bit silly.”

Father Flinch fluttered towards the Brontosaurii. “Hey!” he twittered. “Yo! Guys! What’s going on in there? Hello? Any update on this whole potential cataclysm thing? Heh? Anything? No?”

But if the behemoths heard him, they certainly acted like they hadn’t and he was met with nothing but a single trumpeting fart from the youngest of their asses.

~

Finally, the day came for the final gathering of the creatures beneath the Great Rock. Mother Marmoset, Father Finch and Grandma Gecko waited on their usual piece of driftwood. Though they half expected the Brontosaurii not to show their faces, soon the ground began to shake with the lumbering steps of their approach.

“Friends,” announced Chuck Schumer the Brontosaurus, “I want to let you know that our strategy was a success. We’ve extracted the maximum amount of political advantage from the situation with the rock in the sky. We can hold our heads up high, knowing that we’ve gotten the best deal possible.”

Mother Marmoset looked up at the rock in the sky. It was large enough to see the various threatening crags and ominous crevices on its surface. In fact, some mildly distressing flames were beginning to streak around the edges of the rapidly approaching celestial body.

“So, we’re saved?” asked Grandma Gecko. “The rock is going to retreat and leave us in peace?”

“Not exactly, no. Unfortunately, the rock refused to come to terms with us. At the end of the day, we have to be realistic about what we feel we can get. But we can take pride in having fought the good fight,” said a brontosaurus called Chuck Schumer, which also happens by complete coincidence to be the name of the United States Senator from the State of New York.

“Did you ever actually talk to it?” asked Father Finch. “Because we saw you all with your heads neatly planted in the earth. It seems like you were all too busy caving.”

“I don’t appreciate the insinuation,” remarked Chuck. “Unfortunately, we don’t have much time to debate these things. The time has come to enact our back up plan. We’d like everyone to gather on the beach here. Together, we will beg the rock for mercy. Surely, with every voice crying out in unison, the rock will have no choice but to take pity on us.”

Mother Marmoset spat on the ground. “What a colossal waste of time. I’d curse you all and wish for you to be turned into a viscous black goo for the rest of eternity, but there doesn’t seem to be any point in that now.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother Marmoset, but I'd love to engage in a spirited discussion with you once the begging works and also I look forward to your continued support,” said Chuck before leading the other dinosaurs out onto the beach to begin their communal groveling. “All hail the Brontosaurii Elders!”

Grandma Gecko looked at her fellow driftwood inhabitants. “I’m starting to think my faith was a bit misplaced.”

“What will you do?” asked Father Finch of Mother Marmoset.

She shrugged. “A couple of my kids were talking about this new thing called ‘evolution.’ Figured we'll give it a shot. We might have to eat literal garbage for a while, but we’ll make the best of it that we can. You?”

“I’ll probably grab the flock and we’ll fly our asses as far away from here as possible. I doubt anything good happens once that giant flaming rock hits the ground.”

Mother Marmoset nodded. Things were indeed dire. “Well, keep in touch. We may need each other.”

They both turned their gaze to the others. The shadow of the rock cast a pall on the beach, where the Brontosaurii were showing the other dinosaurs how to bury their heads in the sand.

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