Back in the old days when I still hunted, triceratopses were my favorite game.

I know that sounds cruel, but I did not hunt to kill. Rather, the goal was to shoot rubber balls at the right speed and angle so that they would bounce in between the three horns like a pellet in a pinball machine. The joy came from witnessing these gentle giants utterly confused, trying to decipher what it is that is making their heads vibrate. If you’re as good at the game as I was, it was not unusual to see one so dizzy with thought that it completely tipped over. The only time I felt the game was cruel was when a particularly overweight specimen, whom I had named Ted, tipped over and was swiftly devoured by a T-Rex.

It makes me sad now to think I will never be able to experience that again. Things have never been quite the same since the last mass extinction.

I have tried to reinvent the hobby with rhinoceroses but not only is it harder with just two horns, but rhinos, being mammals, are also much less prone to confusion. The one time I tried it, the rhino figured it out immediately and communicated to me quite clearly that it was not amused. I wanted to explain that it was me I was trying to amuse, but understandably, it did not speak English. It was from Africa.

My own experiences tell me the rhinoceros is only God’s disappointing sequel to the triceratops, one for which I had high hopes, but which ultimately fell short. But I have my fingers crossed.

Come on, God. One word.

Trilogy.