When I was quite little, my dad started telling me stories that when he was a child there were still dinosaurs roaming the earth. I, of course, believed him but used to think about it and I would pepper him questions from time to time. “How did you not get stepped on?” “Did they ever step on cars?” “Was Uncle Bob afraid?” “Did you ever want one for a pet?” “Why didn’t you get stepped on?” And he would patiently explain how it all was. I believed every word, but as I grew older I did begin to doubt. Dad’s stories were often quite imaginitive (we had another one that went on for years about the Adventures of Fearless Fly (and Fearless Frog and Fearless Snake), complete with voices for each character. And then I did grow up and it was pretty clear that it was probably doubtful there were really dinosaurs still around when Dad was young. That is until my 33rd birthday, when he gave me this gigantic wrapped present. It was huge and I could not imagine what it was. When I unwrapped it I could see it was a framed painting (he had made the wooden frame himself in his wood shop in the garage). When I turned the painting around, well, this is what I saw. And it was the best present ever.