Roscoe wasn’t like his other Pteranodon friends. He had no wings. He had arms, but they were tiny, skimpy, and had no membrane of wing stretching across them. While his friends soared through the sky, Roscoe had to be content to run, skip, and hop from place to place. Getting food, like swooping down on fish in a lake, was not attainable to him; rather, he adapted to his life on the ground by hopping around looking for bugs and grubs.
But he didn’t mind so much. Roscoe’s mom always let him know the she loved him just the way he was.