Pudgley's got a little pot belly and a rolling, side to side waddle. Frankly, if I didn't love my little dragonet so much, he wouldn't get much exercise. It's downright embarrassing taking him for his thrice daily constitutionals. Once around the course, twice around the course I trudge. Around and around the exercise track he waddles. By the second lap, Pudgley's little forked tongue is lolling out the side of his mouth, almost dragging on the ground. Little drops of spittle, (the equivalent of dragon sweat), are marking our trail. Yes, when Pudgley exerts, he drools. I used to think that to be partnered with a dragon would be romantic. Ha!
We are on the third lap of morning exercise. I don't have to count because every day when we start the third lap, Pudgley starts wheezing. No, we are not jogging. We are walking. Waddle waddle, wheeze wheeze, dribble dribble, and so goes our exercise period.
Carefully, in the back of my mind, where Pudgley cannot go, I worry about him. Will he ever gain the stamina to fly? All the other dragonets of his clutch have started training. Inadvertently my eyes stray to the training ground. My childhood friends are all there with their dragonets. I see pairs leaping from rocks and ledges and soaring down to the green meadows. They are awkward, and they don't soar very high, but they are flying. I wish we were, too, Pudgley and I.
Pudgley, nuzzles my hand and sidles against my thigh. Yuck! My hand is dripping with Pudgley spit. I feel better. My dragonet's love washes over me.
Pudgley and I meander over to the feeding station and I heft a barrel of scraps for him to munch. I toss him the scraps and he catches each one. My Pudgley loves his lunch. He doesn't miss a toss. Nothing distracts him from a meal. His little pot belly pushes tightly against the golden scales. He glistens in the sunlight. No dragonet's hide is brighter.
We walk down to the stream at the bottom of the valley which is fed by a hot spring. Dragons and partners all bathe here. Pudgley leaps up and arches toward the water, his little wings flapping madly. A huge plume rises as he awkwardly plunges into the stream. I quickly strip and dive in after my water loving friend. We play and splash in the sunshine. When Pudgley paddles in water, he emits a high-pitched whistle with each exhale. I was worried and asked the trainers about it. They just laughed and said some dragons are more vocal than others.
I throw a rock into the deeper center of the stream and he dives down in the clear pool searching for it. The only part of his body sticking out of the water is the spiked end of his tail. It cuts little circles in the stream as he searches below for his rock. His head emerges with the stone in his mouth. It's the same stone I tossed in! His sense of smell and taste are amazing!
I grab a brush and scrub his hide to remove any dry patches caused by his continued growth. This is a rare occasion. We are alone. My dragonet and I are usually in the company of other riders, young and old, or other villagers. Pudgley lolls in the warmth of the sun while I massage his growing hide with oils and plant extracts. He grows so quickly, it is necessary to check every inch of his hide every day for rough patches, dry patches, or tiny cracks. There will be no scars on my dragon to become infected when we soar in the clouds - if we ever do soar.
Again, Pudgley sends loving emotions to me. I can feel his gratitude to me for taking such good care of him. I feel soothed and comforted. I am immediately at peace with my partner. I must be careful not to let my dragon read my doubts. In dragon psychology classes, this is emphasized. "Always think confident thoughts when with your dragonet. A dragonet reflects his partner's thoughts and feelings. " This is taught to toddlers in the nursery before they are even chosen to be some candidates to partner a dragon.
"Up you go, you lazy sweety-pie," I tell him as I snap his leash and tug. After two or three more tugs, I reach under his forearms and tickle him. He squeals with delight and rolls on his tummy. I pat him and tug again and off we go. The trainers once suggested a choke collar, but I nixed that suggestion. "Pudgley will do just fine without that barbaric torture for my poor little beast. He is smart and willing to learn. He's just lazy, not willful.", I had retorted. The trainers let me have my way. Pudgley only wears the traditional wide leather collar that will someday attach to the sky-riding harness for me. Some days, when my arm is throbbing from a particularly difficult walk with Pudgley, I start to regret that decision, but then I look into his glorious, adoring eyes, and he renews my faith that we will succeed. We will become a flying pair.
It is midmorning, now and it is time for us to complete the second mandatary exercise sequence. Away we go through the meadow and past the flight training area. I pause to watch my friends awkwardly learning the standard flight formations. Suddenly Pudgley rears on his back haunches and extends his wings. He breathes one of his ear piercing whistles. My goodness! Is my fat little dragon issuing a challenge? Before the flight instructor can reprimand us for disrupting training, I tug Pudgley back to the exercise track. Waddle waddle, wheeze wheeze, dribble dribble, and we're home.
Pudgley stretches out on his ledge and soaks in the late morning sun. I stretch out in front of my computer terminal and log onto my classes. Today I'm studying weather patterns. This is very important information for a future dragon pair. Before I know it, my lesson is over and it's time for Pudgley and me to have dinner.
I smell the wonderful aromas from the kitchens before I enter the dining hall. I sit with my friends and shovel down stew and crusty brown bread. We have cheese and fruit for afters. I pocket an extra citrus and leave before the after dinner conversation turns to their practice flights. It's not that I'm jealous, or even envious. I wouldn't trade my relationship with my little Pudgley for even the fastest, sleekest, highest flying dragon in the village. Not now! Not ever!
I am in a hurry and not paying attention. I bump into one of the riders I least like, Bortha. She used to be tagged 'Big Burly Bortha' before she partnered with Quinn, her red dragonet. She partnered a year before Pudgley and I met. "Ooff!" I gasp as half my air is knocked out of me.
"Well, if it isn't little Sybille," she sneers, "Of the famous pair 'Sybille and Dribble.'"
Bortha outweighs me by several dozen kilos, but she is not a brave person. I am about to bloody her smirking bulb of a nose when I catch a glint of triumph in her eye. I breathe slowly and carefully, letting my muscles relax. I don't have to turn around to know an instructor is behind me. In fact, it is probably the flight instructor. Bortha would love to see me in trouble again. I breathe carefully, and in a voice just loud enough to carry, I ask, "How's Quinn? I saw you down at the stream working on that sore patch on his starboard wing yesterday." Bortha turns white. The worst insult to dragonets' partner is implied neglect. I happen to know cowardly Bortha did not report Quinn's infection to her flight instructor. She was trying to avoid Kitchen Duty, the normal consequence of letting your dragon get sick. Now she is really in trouble. It's a major infraction to not report any health problem, no matter how small, a dragon may have. Now she's in trouble, big one! She'll be washing dishes and setting tables for rotations! It serves her right. I hope she looks up and sees me on my Pudgley in the sky! When he gets strong enough to fly - he ever gets strong enough to fly.
I leave the dining hall and walk back to Pudgley's lofty cavern. For once, I don't have to wake him up. I attach his leash and, to my surprise, off he waddles. This is the first time ever that I have not had to coax him off his ledge. Pudgley is leading the way. There is actually spring in his step. Oh, he's still pigeon-toed and waddling. His tummy still sways from side to side, but he's actually prancing! He starts wheezing, as usual, and by the third lap he's drooling. The amazing thing is we have completed the course in about half the time we usually take. I can hardly believe it. I am panting and sweating just to keep up with him.
We walk to the drinking fountains for dragons and partners. I suck the cool water down my gullet as Pudgley gulps and slurps. I am so surprised and gratified at my dragon's performance I forget to think in the back of my head, where Pudgley can't 'hear' me. "Whatever happened to change my lazy pet-friend into an energized dragonet?" I wonder.
Into my head, Pudgley answers, "You didn't tell me you wanted to fly!"
I turn to Pudgley, tears of gratitude running down my cheeks, and put my arms around his golden neck. "I love you too, my best and ever friend!"
On the way back to our cavern, we run into the flight instructor. "Your dragon is in fine color this evening," he says.
"Yes, sir!" I reply. It's true. Pudgley does have a beautiful hide. It is glows golden and bronze in the sunset.
Pudgley rears back on his haunches and spreads his wings. He once again blows one of his ear piercing whistles. Embarrassed, I tug on his leash. "Pudgley, where are your manners?" I scold.
"Sybille, I think it's time Pudgley begins flight trainings. You will both report to the field instructor at 600 sharp tomorrow," he orders.
"Yes, sir!" I say. I can't keep the grin off my face. As he turns and walks away, my dragon once again rears on his haunches and whistles.
The flight instructor turns back and says, "Congratulations to you, too, Pudgley."
I am awash with the love and pride radiating from my dragon.
Bio:
I grew up in Berkeley, CA. I did the hippy thing in the late sixties and early seventies.
Unfortunately, I was under the influence of various chemicals, so I don't remember much of that
time. I've gotten married and unmarried a couple of times. For a while, the kids and I lived on
a sailboat. My children are now adults. I moved from California to Washington State. It is very
damp here. Every morning I get up and check body parts for mildew.
I love to travel. My favorite playmates are my grandchildren. I used to be embarrassed about my love of science fiction, you know, having the literary tastes of a twelve year old boy, but since I've discovered the web, I am relieved to find that I am not the only grown-up who reads it.
This is my second piece that Aphelion has accepted. You will find Virtual Pet in Dan's Mare Inebrium section. I would love to hear from other readers.
E-mail: LindaKelly2000@cs.com
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