ROGER THE MINI-DRAGON AND THE MAGIC MEADOW

It was spring in Calgary, Alberta, but the temperatures could range from below zero Celsius to plus thirty. Fortunately, the weather gods were smiling on this oil town on this particular day, and the weather was balmy. This was especially fortunate for new lives commencing—birds, bugs, various critters, and dragons.

“Dragons?” you ask, a wee bit puzzled, perhaps even shaking your head a bit. Nevertheless, yes, you heard correctly; dragons did exist in certain sleepy, hidden hollows in the heart of the thriving city. One in particular comes to mind; his name was Roger. 

There is a natural park sheltered within the community of Varsity, in Calgary. It is, without a doubt, breathtaking. The landscape is vast; there are woods and hills, flowers, and wildlife everywhere. One of the city’s rivers winds its frothy, riotous way through the valley of this Atlantis. This paradise thrives within the city, but it has its secrets, its unknown depths and unraveled layers. Hence, we encounter certain species that are not usually common in the modern world. Enter, stage left, Roger. 

Roger’s mother was a miniature dragon. She existed centuries ago. She lived quite comfortably with the dinosaurs. She resembled these massive creatures in appearance (if not in size), but was never documented as one of their species. Her bones were not preserved. She simply faded away. Before her time in this reality ended, however, she laid her eggs. Most of her offspring perished with the dinosaurs; however, one egg got lost. With the planet evolving, the earth shifting, this little egg tumbled, rolled, and eventually settled in a tiny nook.

The egg was buried and preserved. Yes, centuries passed, the earth shifted again and again, but this little egg survived. It resurfaced into a strange new world; dinosaurs were long extinct. Humans, arguably the most deadly species on the planet, were in the process of causing most of the remaining life-forms to become extinct—including themselves. It was not, perhaps, the most ideal place for a small, bedraggled mythical creature.

Ideal or not, Roger hatched. On this sunny spring day, the egg, which had sheltered Roger for so many centuries, was hiccupped to the surface. The enamel started to crack. This tiny prehistoric critter scratched and clawed his way into that strange new world. Once he could move, Roger scrambled out of the brambles and crawled to the top of the ridge.