Field of Vision

Normally, the sights and smells of a race setting up would excite me to my very core. However, on this particular day, I am running very very late and I have no time to stop and take in the scene around me. It is a blur as I ran full speed down a hallway that opened to the race track. I can see an official looking around for me, clearly he was about to call me a no show and clear my gate, but I come barrelling in.

“I’m here! I’m heeeeeeerrrreeeee,” I yell, drawing the eyes of fellow racers and audience members alike. Luckily, I also draw the attention of the official who simply nods his head and walks away frowning.

I arrive at my gate huffing and puffing. I am already sweating and the starting bell has not even rung yet. I take a few deep breaths to try and slow my breathing and heart rate back to a pace that even resembled normal before mounting up. I glance at the large digital clock in the arena and see that I have less than a minute before the event began, so I take one final large breath and get into starting position. I close my eyes and wait to hear the bell.

Just when I am considering opening my eyes again because surely at least a minute has gone by, a loud shrill pierces the air. Muscle memory kicks in before I have the chance to react and I am shooting down the straightaway. At first, I can hear the crowd screaming, I can feel the other racers around me, I can see the large blinking clock. But soon it all fades away and the only thing I can see is the path of the track ahead of me. I urge onward, gaining every inch that I can. Time dissolves; I take every moment as it comes. By the time the race is over, I don’t even know how I finish. 

Slowly, reality fades back into existence around me. First, I hear the din of the crowd; I cannot make out any words, I just hear it as white noise. Then the other racers come into focus, I realize that they are all coming in after me. Finally, I look up at a large monitor and on it, surrounded by a flashy first place graphic is me, on my Stegosaurus, Clyde. I have won the qualifying race to compete in the worldwide dinosaur sports competition: The Dino Games.

There is a ring of flowers being placed around Clyde’s neck, and a bouquet of them being place in mine. There is a winner’s medal being placed over my head. I finally remember to smile. This is what I have been working towards. 

Cameras film me, reporters ask me the same questions they’ve asked every racer for years. “How did you get into the sport?” - My parents ranch dinos, I took to it early. “What are you going to do to celebrate?” - Give Clyde a watermelon, his favorite fruit, and take a nice long shower before settling in for a quiet evening. “What is your secret to success?” - Hard work and discipline and a good partnership with your mount. “Is there a special man in your life?” What a stupid question, no.

By the time I make it back to the locker room, the other racers are long gone. The joy of winning faded with each inane question. I am now bone tired and thoroughly done speaking to humans. I don’t even bother changing out of my racing gear, I just throw all my stuff into my duffel bag and leave. My crew will get Clyde back safely. I hop on my motorcycle and buzz through the city, eventually emerging out and into the countryside where my parents have their ranch. 

I live in a small house I had built on the ranch. When it became clear that I was going to work with dinos forever, it didn’t make sense for me to move away from the ranch. But I could not go on living in the same building as my parents. One of us was sure to kill the other. So with some earnings from my early and short-lived career of insurance broker. I made enough to build my house and save up a bit of savings then I bolted out of there like my life depended on it. Now, I make enough to get by by helping out on the ranch, most of which I would do for free if everything didn’t stupidly cost money. I like working with the dinos that much.

I have just parked my bike in front of my place and I am heading to my front door when the truck carrying Clyde comes rolling down the drive. I wave my hand at the team bringing him in. Inside my house, I set my gear down on a chair and go to a large box that sits near my front door. In this box, I keep Clyde treats, usually watermelons, sometimes other varieties of melon, sometimes ferns or other fruit, whatever I can find. I heave a watermelon out and walk out to the stables. 

They are still getting him down when I arrive, large watermelon in tow. When he sees me, Clyde starts wiggling against his restraints. 

“Would you mind?” my lead hostler asks me.

“Sure,” I say, setting down my melon.

I walk up to the trailer and place my hand on Clyde’s head.

“Hey buddy,” I say, in a soft voice. “In order to give you your treat, we have to get you out of here, and in order to do that, you have to be still, remember?” It is not unlike speaking to a small child. 

I stroke his head a few times and his fidgeting lessens. Several ranch hands undo the straps that keep him from falling off the large trailer he is transported in. With him calm, it is quick work. Soon, he is happily munching the melon in his stall.

With Clyde cared for, I go about my own celebration, a nice long shower, a good book, and a glass of scotch. 

The next day dawns like any other. I am feeling particularly drained by the excitement of the previous day, but the ranch chores need to be done, so I haul myself out of bed and get dressed. Heading out to the stables is a unique feeling. Early in the morning, the sun is just rising, you’ve just woken up and the day stretches out before you with all sorts of possibilities. This is distinctly different than the end of the day, when you have shoveled dinosaur poop and probably been scratched or bitten at least a couple times. The morning is special. I revel in the golden feeling on my walk, as I hear the noises of the dinos waking up.

My parents raise all sorts of things, but stegs (stegosauruses) are their specialty. It is with them that I do most of my work on the ranch. First things first, get them fed. They make all sorts of dino food, but my parents prefer to let them graze for the most part. However, stegs aren’t the brightest bulbs on the tree, so each morning, I feed them a special food blend with all of their vitamins and nutrients for the day. I scoop it out into the feeding troughs in each of the stalls. I also fill their dishes with water. 

While they are munching away happily, I check them over for injuries or illness. I then open all the gates from stables to fenced in meadow. When they are done eating and I am satisfied that they are all in good health, I open the stall doors and let them out to roam. Sometimes, they are urged by our farm dog, Cleo, a hard working herder dog that sees no difference between herding sheep or herding stegs. 

By mid morning, the stegs are all fed, watered, and grazing. I do the truly onerous task of mucking out their stalls. This is definitely the least glamorous part of my job, so you can imagine my embarrassment when the most attractive woman I have ever seen walks into the barn while I am holding a shovel full of steg poop.

I empty the shovel as fast as possible before I approach her.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“I’m replying to this help ad?” she answers, holding up a piece of paper that did indeed have a help wanted ad that my parents had placed.

“Oh, yeah,” I say, “Let me take you to the house, my parents will want to meet you.”

“Thank you so much,” she says.

I rest my shovel against a wall and take a quick glance to make sure all the dinos are ok, then I lead her to the house. I see my mom outside, working in a small garden they grow their own food in. This is where I usually get Clyde’s melon treats.

“Mom!” I call to her, she lifts her head to see who’s calling. “I have someone here responding to your ad.”

She gets up and dusts herself off, smiling, “Oh great,” she says, walking towards us.

My parents are not formal people, the interview was only a couple questions. “What’s your name dear?” - Mia “Do you have any experience?” - Went to school for vet science, dino specialty, but no practical experience yet. “Are you ok with the advertised pay?” - Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t, just want to work with some dinos. And she was hired. 

She instructed me to give her the tour while she informed dad about her new hire. I happily obliged. 

I take her on the full tour, which, with this ranch, took about two hours. She never once scoffed at dino poop or shied away at an unexpected noise. I loved her more every second I was with her. When it came down to her tasks, she was a quick learner and hard worker. I could have watched her do random ranch tasks all day. And well, I did, I suppose, but that was more a training thing.

As a gesture of hospitality, I offered to have her to my place for dinner that evening. We cooked a simple meal together and started talking about how we got into dinos and how we can’t imagine a life without them. I had never met someone so similar in my entire life.

“This is going to sound crazy” I say, as we are sipping wine, our stomachs full of dinner. “But it feels like we are kismet.

There is the longest pause of my life before she responds, “I agree, it’s like a cosmic force willing us to be together.”

The knot in my stomach loosens as I am flooded with relief. Nothing about this is something I would do. It feels like I am careening out of control. I cannot think of anything else to say so instead, I lean over the table, place a hand on her cheek, close my eyes, and kiss her.

When we break, she smiles at me, breathing just a little bit heavily. We sit back down and sip our wine in silence for a moment. That’s the thing about big romantic moments, there is always a moment after. And no one writes stories about those moments. 

“Well, I should probably get going,” she says.

I am desperate not to let her leave on a note of awkwardness.

“You don’t have to go yet,” I offer.

“I don’t want to go yet,” she answers.

“Then stay.”

“Ok, I’ll stay.”

We finish our wine and fall back into jokes and dino talk. Eventually she mentions a show she likes that I have never seen, so we watch the first episode of that. But it does get late, and she does go home. I kiss her goodbye. When she leaves, I feel giddy with new love.

She continues to work at the ranch. We continue to have dinner paired with long conversations. Every new fact we learn about each other brings us close. We watch through several shows together and read through several books; we have our own private book club. She cheers for me from the sidelines at The Dino Games. I don’t win, but I don’t care. After about a year, we can no longer resist and she moves into my tiny house on the ranch. 

“Before Mia, I was consumed with racing. I was so bent on success that I forgot to live my life outside of it. While I still race, I don’t know that I will ever make it to The Dino Games again. And for the first time in my life, that seems like an acceptable existence. She has taught me that a life full of love, for her and dinos, is a life worth living. I will never forget that moment, the one where I first saw her, my shovel full of steg poop.”

Mia smiles, everyone laughs.

“How was I to know that despite qualifying for The Dino Games the night before, it would be a regular morning, mucking stables, that would change my life forever? I wouldn’t change a single detail. I love you, Mia,” I raise my glass in toast. There is applause, but I don’t hear it, I’m too focused on the path ahead of me, time dissolves, I drink in every moment as it comes.