You just can’t reason with dragons, especially when your arms are full of grocery bags and its tail is preventing your trunk from opening. It just looked at me sleepily, as if it were the one being inconvenienced. I was going to have to rustle through my bag and find the fresh fish that I knew what it waited for. The wild hatchlings always formed the market parking lot. For those who weren’t used to our area found it fascinating. However, the locals found it merely annoying.
When the archaeologist unearthed a treasure trove of dragon eggs, experts deemed it the largest historical find of the century. They had dated the eggs to be at least a millennium old. Thought to just be fossils, no one expected them to hatch after 6 months above ground. Now we had at least seven different dragon breeds roaming the North American continent. And the one sitting atop my truck, scratching away the paint, was a jeweled faerie dragon.
Faerie dragons are about the size of a cat. And have the personality to match. This particle little dragon must have a tracker on my car because this was the third time this week it had prevented me from continuing on with my errands.
“What do you want?” I groaned as it stretched its green legs, exposing blue jelly bean toes.
Part of me thought cats envied dragons. Cats were nature’s perfect killers, except most never reached ten pounds and let’s be honest, all cats are just a baby. Now dragons still had the indifferent murderous behaviors as cats, however, some grew larger than a school bus. And most had wings. I completely understood why the fluffy, tiny murder beasts would not be thrilled about sharing a world with their scaly rival.
But back to the matter at hand. I had become so used to finding the blue and green dragon lounging on my car that I picked up fish every time I left the market. I had no choice but to bribe her in order to make her leave. Or maybe she learned the longer she lingered in my car, the more chances she had to be fed and didn’t have to hunt. Whatever the case maybe, my ice cream was melting.
“Here you go,” I said, unwrapping the salmon. She slowly blinked at me before getting up to stretch. “I’m about to throw it on the ground if you don’t move faster.”
The little dragon ruffed her blue wings at me as if she understood the threat. Gingerly, she took the salmon from my hand before hopping off the trunk and fluttering away.
“You’re welcome,” I called after her.
The rest of the evening was dreadfully uneventful. As was much of my life. But what could I say? I enjoyed the peace and quiet. I could watch whatever I wanted. Use up all the hot water in the shower, and if I left laundry in the dryer, no one complained. However, at night it got lonely. When all my projects were done for the day, I was alone with my thoughts. Those are not always the best companions.
A loud crash came from the trash cans behind my garage. Another one of those moments that I wished I had someone at home with me. But alas, no one would magically appear to join me in inspecting the sound. I grabbed a bat from my softball bag and turned on the floodlight. I expected an opossum or a raccoon, not the tiny jeweled dragon that liked to stalk my vehicle during the day.
“Really? You again?” I asked, picking up my trash can. “Messing up my car wasn’t enough?”
The little dragon chirped at me. Abandoning its meal of day-old chicken wings, the dragon fluttered close to my face. It held up its little paw and in the blue pad was a rusty fishhook. I shook my head. I hate how lazy people are. It’s not that hard to throw away your trash correctly. Then again, the former might have done just that. Seeing as this girl was a trash picker.
The dragon flew into my outstretched arms, and I took her inside. It was highly advised to not take in wild dragons. However, just like cats, this one had claimed me. I refiled through my pitiful excuse of a first aid box, looking for anything that would disinfect the area once I removed the hook. Did dragons need tenuous shots like humans? I thought, reexamining the paw.
My tool box was better equipped to assist in the removal of the rusty fishing hook. Like a kitten, I bundled the dragon in a towel. But I couldn’t purrito. Dragon didn’t really purr and chirpito just did not sound right. The dragon nipped at my fingers as I tucked her muzzle under the towel, but the moment the wire cutters and pliers came out she stilled.
They said dragons were as smart as pigs, but I don’t know what pig would understand what was about to happen to it. It felt as if the dragon held its breath as I did. First, I clipped the hook, hoping it would be enough for the other end to fall out. Unfortunately, it was deep. Small tendrils of frost smoke wafted from under the towel. Thankfully, she wasn’t a fire breather.
I wiggled the other end of the hook out of the dragon’s paw. She squealed and squirmed until I released her from the towel burrito that held her safe. I thought she would have flown straight out the door and to her freedom. Instead, she flew to my couch and made a nest out of my obscene amount of blankets.
So I guess I have a dragon now.
