My neighbor Ken kept reptiles as pets when he was growing up up there in Canada. Iguanas, lizards, lots of snakes. Which may or may not explain why the shrubbery around his house is festooned with rubber dinosaurs.
They can also be found on the steps to the porch, on windowsills, and many other locations both inside and outside his home. In comparison, the few examples I have tucked away (strictly indoor types, my creatures) hardly count as a collection, never mind an obsession.
My favorite of all time, a brontosaurus of sorts, was a wind-up toy from I’ll guess the 1940s. He was a skeleton, and he was arthritic to boot, so when you wound him up he’d make a gggzzzzz noise and creak forward slightly then stop a second or two then gggzzzzz move a little more. He had googly eyes. My other neighbor Randall accidentally sold him while minding my store one day (For crying out loud, Randall, he was behind the desk.) Every time the elderly woman who bought him came in thereafter she would at some point invariably mention that dinosaur, saying oh I love that funny little thing and cackling with glee at her good fortune in having robbed me of my favorite dinosaur thing, if not perhaps my favorite thing.
My second favorite is a tyrannosaurus rex that has fuzzy brown skin. Weird. But not as weird as Ken. The triceratops pictured here as thing of the day is guarding a Rival crockpot in the cubby above the fridge.