On a fateful day 210 million years ago, two crocodile cousins about the size of jackals stood side-by-side amid the low ferns of a humid riverbank that would one day become northern New Mexico.
One of the crocs, Hesperosuchus agilis, had a long snout, large back legs, and smaller, thinner arms. A land dweller, Hesperosuchus was speedy and liked to hunt for food near rivers and streams.
His companion, though of similar size, cut a different swath through the prehistoric shrubs. He had a shorter snout, a more reinforced skull, and expanded jaw muscles perfect for snapping shut on large prey. Not that any of these physical attributes could forestall his ultimate destiny.
Both crocs died in the same instant, apparently the result of a natural disaster such as a sudden mudslide or flash flood. They remained buried together - their bones preserved thanks to fortuitous geochemical forces - right on through the "Age of Reptiles," the rise of mammals that followed, and the crocs' eventual excavation within large blocks of rock that are part of the collections of the Peabody Museum of Natural History at Yale.
That's how a team of Yale paleontologists came to identify the short-snouted croc as a separate species, which they've named Eosphorosuchus lacrimosa in a new study.
