Page 6 of Training my Human

Yeah,so I dropped my groceries and my jaw on the floor. No way had Little Fella spoken to me in actual English.

“Clumsy,” he hissed, proving me wrong as he scampered down and scurried over for a sniff.

“Um. Did you just talk?”

“Yes. Did your ears stop working? I’ve been waiting all day. Where’s my food?” Little Fella nosed at my hemp shopping bags, reusable and durable, although granny used to complain using hemp to make fabric seemed a waste. Never mind my explanation that hemp lacked enough THC to get you high.

“I, uh, um. I think I need to sit down.” My ass hit the floor beside my groceries and Little Fella shook his head at me.

“Now is not the time to sit. I told you, I’m hungry.”

“I’ve got a brain aneurism,” I muttered. Had to be, because lizards did not harangue in slightly accented English.

“Don’t you dare die. Not only have I not given permission, but it would also delay my feeding.” Little Fella sat on his haunches and crossed his arms.

I blinked. “Only I would hallucinate a bossy, talking lizard.” Granny would be proud. She’d often claimed to have some of her best conversations with inanimate objects—usually while on a vision quest—a.k.a. high as a newt.

“This is not your imagination. I could always speak, you simply could not understand. The language passed down to me no longer exists, it would seem. Your television proved handy in that respect. I’ve learned a great many things since you abandoned me.”

“I went to work,” I grumbled. “And are you claiming you learned to speak English in one day by watching TV?”

“Yes, along with a smattering of French. Now, if you are done with stupid questions, feed me.”

“You sound like Audrey II ordering Seymour around,” I muttered as I gathered myself and the grocery bags from the floor.

“Who is Audrey II? Is this their territory?” Little Fella hissed.

“Audrey II was a singing plant in a movie,” I explained as I unknotted the bags and pulled out my purchases.

“You would insult me by comparing me to vegetation!” For a tiny-sized critter, he sounded hugely indignant.

“Someone’s hangry,” I stated as I opened the packaging of the rotisserie chicken. The smell of it wafted as I began tearing off chunks.

“You were gone a long time,” Little Fella complained.

“I had to work. You know, to make money so I can afford to feed your ass,” I complained.

“Ah yes. As I learned today, your society is monetary based. Once I build up my hoard?—”

I interrupted, “Hoard, as in treasure?”

“As if there’s any other kind.”

My laughter erupted loud and bright as I brought a plate down to this level. “Gods, the way you talk, it’s as if you think you’re a dragon.” Weren’t they the only creatures obsessed with collecting riches?

“Not think; Iama dragon.”

It took me a second to grasp his seriousness. Must be a joke. I laughed again. “That’s funny.”

“I am not amused,” Little Fellow stated.

“Come on,” I argued. “Look at you. You’re the size of a kitten, have no wings, and dragons aren’t real.”

“I beg your pardon, we do exist. As to my size and lack of aerial limbs, what do you expect? I am newly hatched.”

“From where?”

“The egg you warmed in your firepit.”

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