“I don’t want to eat this. How many times have I told you not to make banana puree for dinner, Mom,” whined Dave, as Mrs Dee lay dinner on the table. “And I can’t have mango salad every other day!”

“Dave, how many times have I told you not to make faces at your food,” rebuked Mr D, glaring at Dave sternly across the rock table that served as a dining table for their large family of eight members.

“I’m sick of eating all this fruit,” Dave ranted, not paying heed to how upset his father was.

“Dave dear, you seem to have a problem with everything your mother cooks these days,” Grandmamma said with a slight frown on her forehead.

“If you don’t wish to eat, you may leave the table,” Mr D remarked, his mouth pressed in a firm line. Dave stood up from the meal and stormed out of the cave. His bowl of banana puree clattered to the floor. Din Din and his brothers, Derek and Don, were watching this argument in dismay. Hardly anybody ate after the row and Din Din and his brothers retired to their bedroom.

“I’m so angry with Dave,” retorted Derek. “It’s so inconsiderate of him to spoil dinner for us all.”

“I feel terrible for mom. She spends so much time in the kitchen to prepare healthy meals for us,” Don added shaking his head sorrowfully. “And this is how Dave repays her.”

“Dave has always been a picky eater but now he has started to get edgy and moody. Perhaps because he is hungry all the time,” commented Din Din thoughtfully. Dave returned home late that night in a sulky mood and went off to bed without speaking to anyone.

The next morning the brothers got dressed to go to school, but Dave was still lying in bed.When Mrs Dee went to wake him up, he was groaning in his sleep.

“What’s the matter Dave?” asked Mrs Dee in concern.

“My stomach! It hurts,” Dave moaned. “He’s probably just acting; trying to get mom’s sympathy,” scoffed Derek.

“Mom, we are getting late for school. Is Dave coming with us or not?” hollered Don.

“You all go ahead,” Mrs Dee replied. “I’ll try to take Dave to a doctor.”

Later, when Mrs Dee took Dave to Dr Trish, the good doctor frowned at Dave’s grey pallor. “He looks terrible.” she pronounced.“He is complaining of stomach cramps since morning. He hardly eats anything, doctor. I worry about him all the time,” Mrs Dee shared her concern.

“I’m afraid it’s some kind of stomach bug,” was the verdict the doctor gave after she had examined him thoroughly. “I’ll give you this chamomile tea. Brew it every four hours and give it to him. Also avoid any kind of food.”

When the dinosaur brothers returned home Din Din saw Dave slumped on his bed of hay, his face twisted in pain.

“What’s wrong, Dave?” he asked his younger brother.

“My stomach!” winced Dave as he doubled over in pain. “It’s killing me. I’m getting spasms of pain.” He panted and sprawled on his bed again. “I can’t even drink water without getting sick.”

“I’ve given him the chamomile tea Dr Trish prescribed but there seems to be no improvement in his condition,” Mrs Dee told Din Din. “We might have to take him back to the clinic. Dr Trish told me that if the pain doesn’t subside we might have to keep him overnight at the clinic for special care.”

“Then let’s take him,” Din Din insisted. He had never seen Dave look so weak.

“I can’t walk,” moaned Dave. So the three brothers carried Dave on a makeshift bed, made out of some planks of wood, to Dr Trish’s clinic.

“Isn’t he feeling better?” asked the triceratops doctor as she made Dave lie down on one of the beds in the large cave which served as a clinic. The sun was beginning to set and the fireflies who volunteered at the clinic began to glow in the cave.

“He has lost a lot of fluid and I’m afraid he might dehydrate,” shared Dr Trish solemnly.

“You all go back home. We will take care of him,” she advised.

Mrs Dee began to weep softly. “My poor baby.”

“Mom, you must rest as well. We will return tomorrow morning at the earliest,” Din Din reassured her. Nobody slept restfully that night in Din Din’s household.

At the break of dawn, Mr D, Mrs Dee, Grandmamma, Grandpa, Din Din, Derek and Don were at Dr Trish’s clinic to see how Dave was faring.

David, the stegosaurus, who was Dr Trish’s apprentice, was incharge of the night shift at the clinic. He welcomed the dinosaur family. “I’m glad to say that Dave is better. We have administered a high dose of ginger and cinnamon medicine every hour and finally his cramps have subsided.” When Dr Trish came to the clinic later that morning, she allowed Dave to return home.

“But you must just keep him on water for the rest of the day. I want to make sure that all the bad bugs have been cleansed from his system.” Dave lay on his bed at home, relieved of his agonising stomach cramps but weak with starvation.

“Mom, please give me something to eat,” he begged.

“Dave dear, you aren’t supposed to eat anything today,” his mother crooned to him lovingly. But his brothers did not lose this opportunity to make fun of him.

“Dave, how about some banana puree,” whispered Don in Dave’s ear. “Oooooh,” groaned Dave, his mouth watering at the thought of a meal. “How about some mangoes?” Derek goaded him slurping at a golden mango right before his eyes. “Anything! Give me anything!” Dave cried out in desperation.

“I’d say someone just learnt how to eat his own words!” Din Din quipped in. And the three brothers laughed at Dave good naturedly.

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