“Look at you, you precious thing,” Lynn said to the small dragon on her doorstep. A black and purple one, to be precise.

It cocked its head, blinked its purple eyes, then rawred at her.

Lynn carried the small dragon inside. She put it on the couch and wrapped it in a wool baby-blue blanket. While the dragon tore the blanket to shreds, Lynn looked through her pantry for dragon food.

“Dragons don’t eat potatoes,” she said, scanning the cans. “Dragons don’t eat carrots. Dragons don’t eat waffles—I don’t think.”

The dragon climbed off the couch, dragged off the blanket, and ambled its way toward Lynn’s cat on the carpet, Strudel.

“How would you like tomato-chicken soup?” Lynn called. When she closed the pantry to turn around, she found the dragon stretched out on the carpet with Strudel’s hind legs hanging out its mouth.

“Strudel!”

The dragon gulped. Down its throat went Strudel the cat. Belly big and round, the dragon smiled.

Lynn reckoned she’d feed him a strudel after that.


She was down at the market one day shopping for dragon food till she bumped into Brofis the Fisherman.

Brofis said, “Lynn! Word of mouth is you’ve a dragon hatchling at home!”

“Why, y-yes, I do,” said a flustered Lynn.

He howled with laughter, clapping her on the shoulder. “Ah, Lynn. Lynn, one day when he’s grown up, you’ll turn around to tell him you made your tomato-chicken soup, and he’ll eat you instead.”

“No.” She shook her head. “He’s so precious. My little dragon would never do that.”

“No,” Brofis seemed to agree, “but your big dragon might. All I’m saying is be careful. Anyhow, I’ve a fish on the grille I’d best get back to to tend.”

An idea came to Lynn. They said their farewells then departed.

Two hours later, Lynn returned to Brofis at his stand on the market. She had brought the dragon along, on a leash.

“Lynn, for cripe’s! You take you and your dragon on ‘atta here. They’re bad omen.”

“Two trout and four salmon,” Lynn said.

“I refuse to serve! Hey!”

The dragon snooped its way around fish nets full of fresh catches and sniffed the grille with a grin.

“Get your nose ‘atta those!” Brofis commanded.

With a whine, the dragon pawed at the fisherman’s apron. Brofis gasped. He took two steps back.

Lynn smiled broadly. “He’s hungry. Won’t you serve my hungry little one?”

The fisherman stared with his mouth agape. He shook his head, grumbling to himself. “You’re to expect a pricey bill.”

Eventually he did become a big dragon. And he came home one evening with a mouthful of the neighbors’ pets. Lynn was baffled. Before she could scold him, he swallowed them whole. Once they had finished “going down”, he said, “Hey Lynn, how come you’re human?”

Lynn: baffled times two. “What do you suppose by that?”

“I mean everyone’s a human. No one likes me!”

“Oh, now!” Lynn put on her consoling voice. “That’s not so, honey.”

“I kind of want to eat you right now.”

“You’re a dragon, Sini,” Lynn told him. “You can’t help it. That’s who you are.”

“So why do you get mad at me when I eat the cats and dogs?”

Lynn pondered.

She began letting him hunt in the woods that next afternoon. Sini was so thrilled to fly home with a live fawn in his mouth. Upon landing, he burst through the door flicking his head every which way to show it off to her. “Mm? Mhmm? Mmt mm-mm mmf!” he said (mind you, his mouth was still full).

“That’s wonderful, dear,” Lynn said uneasily.