Page 8 of Training my Human

“Well, excuse me. What’s your name then?” I replied tartly.

“I have not yet chosen one befitting my stature. Until I do, you may address me as Your Grace. That is, after all, the courtesy extended to royals.”

“Yeah, a royal pain in my ass,” I mumbled, not low enough for him to miss.

“Servant, your insolence is intolerable!”

“So is your bossy attitude. And for the record, my name is Pip. Now if you don’t mind, I have better things to do than argue with a small lizard with delusions of grandeur.”

“There is nothing more important than me.”

“I can think of plenty of things that are, starting with eating my dinner.”

Little Fella eyed his plate of chicken. “We shall continue your education after we dine.”

And by dine he meant scarf down his chicken then proceeded to eyeball mine. I didn’t share but did offer what remained of the rotisserie bird. Little Fella ate it, bones and all.

As for the cupcakes I’d brought as a treat, I got one of the six. He ate the rest and licked the plastic clean. His full belly didn’t improve his bossy mood.

“I require rest after my repast. Carry me to my chamber.”

“Carry yourself. I’m going for a shower.” I also needed a moment to think. If I wasn’t currently suffering from hallucinations, then I had a strange dilemma on my hands. Namely, what the fuck should I do with a talking lizard?

Some folks would have seen an opportunity to make a quick buck. The people who would pay big money to own Little Fella would make it so I could build my dream house and only work if I wanted. However, I couldn’t see myself selling him. For one, it felt a little wee bit too much like slavery and I knew granny would disapprove, not to mention my native roots—even if down to something one sixteenth—balked at the idea.

It occurred to me that I should check and see if I was indeed crazy. Namely, discover if my lizard—with delusions of dragon—would talk to someone other than me. Assuming there was even a lizard. Could be a figment of my imagination. An imaginary friend I didn’t need. It would be simple enough to ask Leo to pop out and, without saying anything, see if he noticed or mentioned my new housemate.

But while I adored Leo, I worried because my boss did like collecting weird and rare shit. He had a basement full of bones—dinosaur, he claimed. Illegal to own, but that didn’t stop him from purchasing them. A talking lizard that claimed it was a dragon? Leo might like me, but I worried his obsession might prove stronger than our friendship.

Who else could I ask?

Kalypso, lovely girl, had a big mouth. She’d never keep the secret.

And that left… no one, really. I didn’t make friends easily or often. Like my granny, I didn’t mind being alone.

Most of the time.

For a second, my mind flashed to the burly pet shop owner. Maddox. What would he think? He knew about lizards, but mine might be a bit much for even him to handle.

So what was a girl to do?

Apparently crawl into bed with her arrogant new pet. Although Little Fella kindly shifted from the middle to let me get under the covers before draping himself over me. Had he gotten bigger? Sure felt heavier. No real surprise given how much he ate.

I woke the next morning to a hungry lizard. He downed a package of frozen waffles, a whole grapefruit—which he declared nasty and forbade me from buying again—and discovered coffee. Not a good idea. I left my caffeinated Little Fella bitching to me about my duties, my disrespect, and the lack of adequate consumables.

On the way to work, I had time to wonder a few things. One, how was Little Fella so damned smart if he just hatched? No way did he learn English from watching television for one day. Two, how did he know his mother dumped his egg in the volcano? He’d not even been born. Which led to three, he called himself dragon. How would he know what the fuck he was? Was it because of something he’d seen on television? And finally, four, could it be that Little Fella started out as an ordinary reptile and—like some tortoises in a sewer—got exposed to radiation or something, which is how he got so smart and talkative? That would be cool.

Assuming he existed outside my imagination, of course. I still had my doubts.

At the shop, my concentration sucked, which, in my line of work, wasn’t ideal. Sure, I inked and it looked good, but Leo noticed it lacked my usual flair.

“Something wrong?” he asked after I finished a butterfly on some lady’s shoulder.

“Sorry. I think I’m tired.” And then, because I couldn’t admit the real reason why, I offered a partial lie. “I’ve got a new pet keeping me up at night.”

“Oh. I thought you didn’t like cats and dogs.”

“I don’t hate them, I’m just not around enough for them to be happy,” I countered.

---