It just appeared. Right behind me, a creature much like a winged fox, actually very much like my dog Samson, but horned, winged, and fiery. It seemed to be set on fire, the blue-white flames rippling in a line down its back without harming it. I knew that this creature was unfamiliar, but I feel that there was a name for it…. A dragon.

Though it seemed intelligent, it spoke in an unknown language. Probably similar to Fox, but as we all know, no one can tell what a fox says. Well, whatever it was, it was made up of different small barks that sounded like “ding”. I reach out, because the dragon seemed friendly, and my hand brushed past the blue dorsal flames, and found them to be warm. Only warm, actually a quite comfortable temperature. Enough to keep you warm in winter, toasty warm, but not enough to be uncomfortable in the light spring air.

I rush away, eager to show someone what I had found. Maybe Samson and this dragon, who I had begun to call a Fireyfox, could become friends. But either way, I felt that this was somehow more important than it seems….

The sound of pawsteps. It seems that it, or he as I now think, wants to follow me. I turn to face the dragon and I beg him to please, for the good of both of us, “Stay here, I don’t want you rampaging through the city and sparking all sorts of conspiracy theories. Someone could even try to catch you to keep as a pet, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that became the case.” I barely even know this creature, and I already want to keep him. I think that that fuzzy face of his makes me love him. He gives me one long, scathing look, and bolts. “Oh great. I find the first real dragon and I frighten it away! COME BACK HERE, YOU FOXY LITTLE FOX THING!” I start out speaking, and then I yell. In one final effort to get him back, I call, “I’m sorry! Please come back!” Nothing. “One more try, and then I go home.” I think. “We’ve got food!”

Just as I reach my door, I hear the telltale sound of wingbeats behind me. There he is, acting like he never left. It seems like this Fireyfox is the most uncooperative and frankly the sassiest creature I’ve ever met. I mean, he has a major attitude. But he’s just so cute, you can’t even be mad at him. I still wanted to know what to do about this rather random situation, but didn’t want him in my house, for one main reason I don’t care to mention. “Mom,” I call. “There’s something you should probably see.”

” What is it, Megan? What did you want to show me?” I step aside. I can tell my mom is shocked, but she’s trying to stay calm. Thankfully at that moment Samson appears. He walks over to the Fireyfox and proceeds to sniff him. Samson ends up with his nose on the fox’s wing, and he jerks back, a confused look on his face. But the Fireyfox wags his tail, and soon they dash into the front yard and begin chasing each other. My mom’s attention turns back to me. “Megan, is this a joke or something? If so, it’s not very funny. I bet you’re going to tell me that whatever that is is real and not just someone’s dog in a strange costume. Right?” “Uhh…” I reply.

“But it is real Mom,” I argue. “Why would you think this is a joke? I’m just as confused as you are. All I want is some answers. I know it seems strange—okay, it is strange—but I think that this foxlike creature is a dragon.” ” Megan. Dragons aren’t real.” “Do you have a better explanation?” “Okay, what are we going to do about this? I guess we have to take care of him, at least tonight.” Should we call someone?” “Well, what could we say?”

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t relax knowing that somehow, I had made this mess. My dad said that we should call someone or do something, because we couldn’t just keep a mythical beast, or whatever the little critter was, in our house forever. My mom agreed, saying that no matter how cute he was, we can’t keep a creature that may—or may not—breathe fire in our house. So in the morning, it was decided, we would take him to the vet with Samson.

Samson and Becker (the Fireyfox needed a name by now, don’t you think?) rode in the back of the car together. My mom said that, “We are only bringing him to the vet because he is probably someone’s dog, and we want to see if he is hurt or not. They can probably get that silly costume off of him, too.” I say nothing, not just because I am tired of arguing, but also because how could I explain the line of flames running down Becker’s back that went out whenever my parents were looking at him? I am honestly surprised Samson doesn’t care about them. But no, he seems to have accepted him as an odd, but friendly, stranger.

To be continued.

Not fan fiction!

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