September 24, 1879
Today has been a day of both fascination and frustration as I toiled on the farm, only to stumble upon a discovery that has further deepened my doubts about the existence of dinosaurs. The paleontologists who descended upon our humble homestead have set their sights on the bones we unearthed, insisting that they belong to ancient creatures of the past. But I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that these are merely the remnants of our beloved cow who perished during a harsh winter.
The sun rose over the horizon, casting its gentle light upon the rolling fields as I set about my daily chores. As I tended to the earth, my shovel struck something hard and unyielding—a bone, protruding from the soil like a secret longing to be revealed.
Intrigued, I continued to dig, and soon, my efforts unveiled more bones scattered beneath the earth’s surface. Memories of the winter our dear cow disappeared rushed to the forefront of my mind. It was a difficult season, and her loss weighed heavily on our hearts. But in death, she returned to the embrace of the earth that had nurtured her, providing sustenance and shelter during her time with us.
As the day progressed, my father and I gathered the bones and examined them closely. It was apparent to both of us that these were the remains of our Daisy, her identity unmistakable from the familiar curvature of her bones. There was no doubt in our minds that we had finally found her, laying to rest any lingering uncertainty about her fate.
However, our discovery did not go unnoticed. Soon after, paleontologists arrived at our doorstep, their eyes alight with excitement and curiosity. They examined the bones, their fervent gazes giving way to animated discussions and passionate proclamations.
Their insistence that these were dinosaur bones bewilders and frustrates me. How can these learned scholars fail to see what is so clear to us—a simple cow, once a beloved member of our farm family? It is as if they are so enamored with the idea of discovery that they are willing to twist reality to fit their preconceived notions.
I tried to reason with them, explaining that these bones were of our cow, but my words were met with condescension and dismissal. They scoffed at my claim, labeling it as ignorance born of a naive mind. But I am no stranger to the land that sustains us, and I know these bones as surely as I know the sun rises in the east.
Their insistence on dinosaurs only strengthens my doubts, for how can I trust the word of those who seem so eager to label any ancient remains as proof of these mythical creatures? It seems that any bone unearthed is regarded as evidence, regardless of its true origin.
As the sun begins to set on this tumultuous day, I find myself grappling with conflicting emotions. My heart aches for the memory of our dear cow, her life and passing now obscured by the enthusiasm of strangers. And yet, a fire of determination burns within me, driving me to seek the truth amidst the cacophony of claims and counterclaims.
Tomorrow, I shall pen a letter to Professor Cope, sharing my recent experiences and the concerns that now grip my heart. I hope that he, at least, will lend an ear to my doubts and engage in genuine discourse.